#but its morphing into something not triangle like

[gennianydots]

I love. this. show.

I look forward to it every week.

Dare I say: it has “been my favorite” for a few weeks now. I’ll see myself out.

“How do you feel about him exactly?”

tHe KiSs hsksgksvgs and Mom interruption 1

Piseang comes out to mom but also, says its my business not yours

Pear: What the fuck is a “straight man” anyway? Who are you to dictate what that looks like? Fuck off.

Not: 😟😳

Kawi realizes he kissed Pisaeng and Mom interruption 2

BE MY FAVORITE: it’s all about the truth.

[alpacacare-archive]

he dont bite

[bmpmp3]

creature design is so difficult everyday i dream of creating the most horrifying offputting gross grody scary silent hill trauma monster creatures and then i sit down and draw something that looks like this

[victoria-grimesss]

locked on target

masterlist

->Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!Reader

->Words: 4.7k

->Warning: MDNI! unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering, mask stays partially on, dirty talk.

->Summary: Working alongside the 141 for a year now, you’ve grown closer to the infamous ghost. Confiding in Soap about your crush, confession is the only way to rid yourself of the gnawing infatuation. 

->A/N: Despite all my writing being about König, ghost is my all time favorite baby girl, writing for him always intimidated me but I’ll give it my best shot, hope he’s not too OOC.

It’s been a full year on the 141 and you couldn't be happier, well not happy at the moment since you’re ankle deep in sludge. This mission is going as well as any other despite the evac being miles away through humid weather and wet ground. 

“Good thing I packed extra socks.” You muttered, readjusting your gun and pack and unsticking your boot from a deep pocket of mud.

“Oh come on lass it could be worse right? We could be treading through anaconda infested waters huh? Lighten up.” Soap is next to you. He's having an easier time removing his boots from the muck. 

Price is in the front with Gaz next to him talking about the evac and rations, you admire their relationship. Price has slowly morphed into some kind of a father figure to you as you assume he did for Gaz too or at least a mentor. Gaz and Soap are like brothers to you, you bicker like such. You pick on Soap when he gets too drunk to form correct sentences and starts singing songs from his childhood, and you get Gaz too when he laughs so hard you have to remind him to breathe. Like a dynamic triangle the three of you.

Then there’s Ghost.

He stands at the back of the group behind you and Soap, no evident trouble for him when it comes to the mud. He’s sturdy and observant, keeping a close eye on the treeline and behind the group. He's a great soldier and you admire his skills… and him. Ever since you met him you’ve had your eyes trained. 

I mean who wouldn’t.

From his expressive eyes which sometimes you feel look through you, to his broad shoulders where he holds the world on top of them, his strong arms that deal with enemies swifty, to…his… lower extremities that you certainly have only thought of once or twice. Maybe more. 

You should be ashamed of your feelings, and you lock them down deep the only time they have slipped past your lips is when too much alcohol loosens them. 

—

You confessed one night to soap, the rest were asleep and your insomnia was kicking your ass so you went to the parking lot where soap was nursing a bottle on the hood of his car, and you sat down and shared it.

“Something on your mind bonnie?” He hands the bottle to you, concern brewing in him.

“I don’t know, it’s just, Ghost.”

He laughs.

“Yea, I know about him, but what about him?” 

You take a couple large gulps of the amber liquid, it burns its way down and soothes your aching wanting heart, burying the hopeless romantic in you. Tears brew in your eyes and you always forget you either become a laughing drunk or a sappy drunk, seems the latter had won tonight.

“Aye- lass, what's wrong.” His hand is placed on your shoulder offering a comforting touch.

You sob and laugh at the same time, looking up at Soap.

“I think I’m in love with him.” You say quietly through a stream of tears that make their way into your mouth, making a weird cocktail of salty liquor.

“Oh bonnie…” Soap rubs your back, his voice is soft.

“I just, everything about him Johnny! I can’t get him out of my head, and he probably doesn't even look at me that way, he could get any girl he wanted!” You sob.

“Woah there calm down, gonna throw yourself into a spell talking like this. Look. LT cares about ya, truly. He thinks you’re a valued member of the team and I’ve caught him starin’ a few times so don’t be daft now ya hear. You’re a pretty girl and LT would be lucky to have ya.”

You sniff, wiping the tears and snot with a sleeve.

“Really? You think so?”

“Cross my heart and hope ta die. You’ll be alright.”

—

“It’s in my shoes.” You deadpan.

You hear Gaz laugh and Price looks back, checking on the team.

“Don’t worry Y/N, just imagine it’s a mud bath! Your skin will be smooth and shiny before you know it!” Soap laughs at Gaz’s antics, it’s nice when you can all joke around and relax. The hard part is over and now it’s simple evac.

“Right… how soothing.” Your eyes roll and you look back to check on Ghost, your eyes meet and a flash of electric lightning shoots to your heart, it feels good. 

He gives a quick nod and you return to your trudging. You wait till after the mission to pass any other signals, he’s too focused to register any flirting right now. Or that's the advice Soap gave you after that night.

“Right. Keep close by, chopper is land down in 5, need to evac quickly to avoid any unwanted looks.” Price alerts to the rest of the team once you’ve covered ground and are nearing sweet release. Your back and knees ache just at the thought of sitting. You nurse the last of your water and keep walking, you tip your bottle back along with your head to get the remaining drops and you trip over a protruding root.

Other foot trying to catch yourself a hand catches on your upper arm, righting you up.

“Alright there?” Ghost’s dark eyes are steady on you, maybe a bit amused, or maybe his eye paint is creasing.

“Yea, sorry just tryna finish off the bottle, didn't see that there.”

“Careful next time yea?” He releases your arm and waits for you to start walking again to pick up behind you.

“Yea, for sure LT.”

You feel his hand on your arm even after he released you and you want to untie the knot that Ghost has tied there and you know you’re royally fucked.

You’re all on the chopper and your legs just about give out, you always love the euphoric feeling of sitting down after a mission like this, the lactic acid in your muscles making them burn like no other. You sit across from Ghost and he visibly relaxes once the chopped takes off, the breeze from the open doors cooling everyone immensely.

“Good work everyone, I know evac was shit but you all hustled and we got the intel we needed. I think we all deserve a good ol drink when we get back right?” 

Price brings a smile to everyone's face, as tired as the lot of us are. You glance over at Ghost and his eyes look away from you, looking over his gear.

Your heart pains for some kind of acknowledgment that he feels the same, it’s like trying to hold the same fistful of sand no matter how hard you try it seeps through your fingers, you want him so badly you’d tape your fist shut if that meant keeping the sand in.

—

Back to base, ‘same day different shit’ you heard Ghost say one time. You often hold on to everything he says, hoarding each little piece he feeds you and storing it away somewhere special. Like you’re hoarding food for the winter, as if the winter is him falling in love with a woman that isn't you, when that happens you’ll open your little box of his sayings and advice and eat them slowly, savor them until all that’s left to drink is the tears you drown yourself in as consolation. 

A pity party is what you throw yourself that night, showering and getting a once over by the medic then making your way back to your room, Price wants to get everyone together tomorrow night for a drink, wouldn't hurt you think. You sit on the edge of your bed, the silence is deafening after a mission, tinnitus ringing your ears. The bed is cold, you want someone to warm it, you want Ghost to warm it.

The nightmares come to you quickly that night, visions of your team, your friends being ripped apart by bullets as you try to fire back into mist. You hold Ghost’s hand as he fades and you wake up coated in cold sweat and adrenaline.

3:18 a.m.

You toss and turn for a minute before huffing and leaving the bed, you need air. Adorned in sweatpants and a shirt you got on recruitment day you leave your room the sound of your door is loud and you wince as it closes. You go to the parking lot once more, maybe there will be more stars out tonight. 

The air is crisp and cool, you round the corner of the building where a bench sits, a lone figure is sitting and smoking there, you can tell it’s him by his silhouette. He’s broad and his legs spread wide as he sits alone.

“This seat taken?” You ask, scared if you talk too loud he’ll leave.

“All yours” No inflection is evident in his tone.

Silence sits between you two and you take a harsh breath to break it. It makes you uncomfortable. 

“Trouble sleeping?” His voice is deep and low.

“The usual, nightmares again. You?” 

“Not tired, too soon after the mission to sleep.”

“I understand.” 

You watch him carefully as he brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales, you inhale with him. You imagine him inhaling your perfume as his lips touch your neck. You stare, unabashedly, like you’re not scared if he catches you.

He adjusts where he sits, hips rolling to get more comfortable.

“Bloody bench feels like it’s made of spikes.” He mutters, quietly.

You breathe out a laugh as he exhales the smoke.

His eyes look to the side at you and then forward again.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like you want something from me.”

“What if I do?” 

Your heart is racing now, faster than it had on any given mission.

He stands, throwing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his boot, he slips his mask down again and his eyes are locked on you.

“I’d say you’d better fuckin’ find it elsewhere, we both know I can’t give you what you want.”

“What do I want Simon?” 

His lips grow sealed when you say his name.

“Things I’m incapable of providing, best leave it at that. Night sergeant.”

His tone meant business, you know better than to chase after him. You sit on the bench, staring at the cigarette on the ground. It’s beaten and crushed like you feel right now.

You wonder if you can still taste his lips on it.

The walk of shame back to your room is humiliating, you pass some others that can’t sleep, nightmares aren't anything special around here and you wish you could pluck the worries from their heads.

Sleep is easy after that, maybe your body wants to make you forget the encounter with him but even so you dream of him. He’s an inescapable phantom.

—

“Aye there she is!!” Soap hollers from across the pub, it’s a quaint place, quiet enough to not be annoying but lively enough to not feel desolate.

A large corner booth is what they occupy and you wave as you make your way over, A few empty glasses scatter the table already you arrived ‘fashionably late’.

“Hey bonnie I gotta take a leak you can have my seat yea?” He nudges Ghost so he can be let out of the booth, Ghost stands towering over you. Soap shuffles over to the bathroom and Ghost  lets you slide into the booth before he follows, trapped between the wall and him. You’d rather be under him…

You greet them all and Gaz slides you a tall glass of something mind numbing, Ghost has his mask down but he’s nearly finished with his glass same with the rest of them.

“You got some catching up to do, miss fashionably late.” Gaz shoots a smile and you clink your glasses together.

Soap meanders back and pulls a chair to sit at the end of the table, you all squabble over what a better drink is and down rounds after rounds. The conversation somehow gravitates to relationships at some point and Soap is going on and on about this woman he met at the pub down the street.

“Oh she’s a real sweetheart, thinking about asking her out later this week when I get the balls to do it.”

You smile at the way Soap talks about her, you’d love to be admired like that, treasured.

“I think you should go for it Johnny! You're a nice guy, I can go in there and talk you up if you want, say you fought off ten men to save my life.”

He laughs, nearly tipping off his chair, 

“You’re a real wingman Y/N, if you can secure a date by all means.”

You smile and the air is joyous, little is heard from Ghost but you know he likes seeing the team happy, he sips his drink and observes, smiles hidden by his mask.

“Have you had any luck on the dating scene Y/N?” 

Gaz questions, eyebrows rising.

“Yea bonnie, never hear a peep out of you when we talk about lovey dovey shit.”

You shrug, taking strong sips of your drink.

“I went on a date a while back, he got me flowers, a real nice guy. Found out he was sleeping with my friend behind my back around the fourth date. Don’t really want to try anymore, end of story.”

You can feel Ghost’s eyes burning into you as you finish the sentence. His gaze is addicting and you feel sweaty locked in his stare.

“Well he’s a proper twat for messing it up with you then yea?” 

Price offers a tip of his head, sympathy in his eyes.

“Ah it’s alright, I’ll just wait for my prince charming to come sweep me off my feet.” You bat your lashes dramatically and fake a swoon, soothing the old memory with jokes. It turns the tide of the table ambiance to a lighter one.

“I need to piss.” Ghost says quickly, you scoot out of the seat and Ghost hurries off to where Johnny has gone to earlier.

“What’s up his arse?” Gaz says confused.

Price downs the last of his drink and slams it back onto the table.

“What do you all say to a game of pool?”

“I’ll watch, cheer ya’ll on.” You still nurse your drink and you start to buzz, worries slipping away like papers, but one it left, weighted down with a large paperweight.

“I’ll be right there, gonna finish this drink off.” Soap says, sloshing the leftover liquid that's in his glass.

“Very well, see you momentarily.”

Soap watched the two walk off, leaving the two of you left alone.

He turns back quickly, you get secondhand whiplash.

“Ghost has had his eyes on you the whole night please tell me you told him and he confesses his secret love for you!” Soaps eyes are huge and he’s pleading for the right answer.

“Not exactly.” He delfates.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘not exactly’?”

“I told him that I kinda wanted him and he said he wouldn't be able to give me what I want.”

“That's bollocks and you know it! He’s always watching you, never seen him doing that for any other lass. Now is the time, he’s all alone. Go on and chat him up, I’ll tell the boys you’ve gone home sick alright.” 

Soap winks and leaves before you can utter another word. You even your breathing and gulp down the rest of the liquid courage before strolling over to the bathroom hallway. It does not take guys that long to pee weird he's not around.

You walk outside, feeling deja vu from last night the breeze hits the same way.

“You should go inside, it’s cold out.” Ghost is standing leaned up against the brick wall next to the door.

“I was looking for you actually.”

He stands up straighter, shoulders held further.

“Lads looking? Not really in the mood to lose another game. Last time was enough.”

You laugh, the alcohol making it easier to relax around him. You're tipsy enough to have fake confidence for the time being but sober enough to make deductions wisely.

“No Simon, I’m looking. For you.”

“And I told you to stop, you don’t know what you’re thinking. You’re a nice girl yea? Find a nice young guy that can take you on dates and buy you flowers-

“I don’t want anyone else Simon. I want you because I’m in love with you!”

It seems like the whole world went silent after you said that. You’re steaming and don’t move your eyes away from him.

“Y/N.”

“I’m tired of pretending. I just had to tell you I couldn't hold it in any longer it was making me sick. I don’t care about fancy stuff, you should know that by now. I just want to be next to you.”

He approaches you, your neck craning to maintain contact.

“Y/N, I’m proper fucked up you know that? You’re too kind, too perfect to be ruined by a man like me.”

You sniff, the cold getting to you.

“I think you’re wonderful Simon really. You look out for everyone and make sure everyone is alright before looking after yourself. Let me please show you you’re worth loving in return.”

Your heart spills to him, spewing it’s contents violently.

“I’m not joking, I'm not ‘prince charming’ like you referenced earlier.”

“Even better.” You smile.

“Fuck it.”

Before you know it, he lifted the small portion of his mask to kiss you and you erupt, wrapping your arms securely around his neck as though you’ll fall if you don’t. His hands hover over your waist and you grab them and push them down onto your body and he pulls you close. He kisses you like it’s the last time, he makes up for all the times he should have, all the time he desperately wanted to.

He’s watched from afar for so long, your laugh creates sparks in his heart, seeing you make it back from another mission safely spurs him on. He would lay down his life for you and you don’t even know it.

He pulled back, mouth in the crook of your neck.

“Your place is nearby right?” You ask, rubbing his neck and down his back.

“Yea, yea it is.”

He leads you back, back to his den where he’ll draw you in with those eyes and that voice, calloused hands exposed from his gloves that will trace over your skin. The walk is in silence but you both are buzzing, the team won’t miss you, probably happy this chasing game is over with so peace can be established once more. He takes your hand as he leads you up the steps to his apartment, you grope his arm and he shoots you a sultry side-eye.

“Have I ever told you I love your arms?”

“You did just now love.”

Love, love, love. You want him to keep saying it.

He leads you in you’re caged in by his arms on the inside of the door. He looks you over head to toe.

“You look fuckin lovely tonight you know that? All I’ve been thinking about is tearing this top off of you and stripping you down.”

You shiver and bring your hands to run carefully from his abdomen up to his chest.

“You think of ripping my clothes off frequently?”

“Very.”

Stunned by his words and your head swimming he places his hands on your waist and lowers his head to your ear.

“Now if you’d allow me, I’d like to fuck you now.”

Hypnotized you speak.

“Yes please.”

His home is lowly lit and sparsely decorated, you assume he’s not here often or for long.

The bedroom is simple, a bed, two side tables, two lamps, and a dresser. An adjacent bathroom you can’t see.

“You have a nice place.”

“Well now I know you’re lying.”

You stand at the edge of the bed and he stands before you and his hands are on you again pushing you onto the bed you are surrounded by the smell of him, the deep umber and woodsy scent. 

“You know how many times I’ve pictured you in my bed?”

He’s inching your pants down your hips agonizingly slow as he speaks.

“How many times I fucked myself picturing you instead?”

“Ghost.”

“Nah none of that here, you’re gonna say my real name from now on and you’re gonna scream it alright?”

“Fuck Simon.”

“Yea. Just. Like. That.” Your pants are off and his hands move from your ankles up to your knees and caress to your inner thighs. His fingers skate your pantyline and your eyes are locked on his hand and he doesn't stop. His hands move over your hips and grip your waist before moving right below your breasts, he checks you with his eyes and you plead silently.

He cups you fully with both hands and you roll your head savoring his feelings.

“So fucking good love fuck.”

He strips you of your shirt and bra and you’re left exposed on his bed. He stands back to stare down upon you and you feel like a spread of food sitting on a stark white table ready to be consumed and ogled. He strips himself of his leather jacket leaving his quite form fitting black tee on.

You adjust under his gaze, his mask hides any expression but his eyes say so much. Raking over your body heavily and his chest rising and falling fast as though he had run a marathon.

“Simon.”

“Yea?”

“Do something.”

“Like what?” His voice is lighter now.

“Anything Simon!”

He laughs and places a knee in between your legs, spreading them wide to accommodate his other leg and hips.

“There we go, fuck all spread out underneath me.”

His hand is placed on your breast and rolls your nipples in his fingers, it moves down never leaving your skin until he reaches your core it’s hot and wet and he collects it on his fingers and when he finally touches you it’s like you’ve reached Valhalla. 

He slips a finger inside and it faces no resistance, you form around him and he slips in another starting a smooth rhythm.

“So tight, you think you’ll be able to take me huh love?” 

He’s pumping in you and you can hear how wet he’s made you, his eyes darting from his fingers to your face, thrown into pleasure.

He brings you to your peak so quickly you’re stunned and you grip his arm as you clench around him, his name being pulled from you like a mantra.

 You regain your mind and look at him as he slips from you and his fingers make their way under his mask, his eyes on your as he licks them clean tasting you on him.

“Sweetest fucking thing I ever tasted.”

He’s unbuckling his belt next, unzips his pants and pulls himself free. He's thick as all hell and a thick vein runs down the underside. It looks heavy and you pocket an idea for next time.

You're staring for a long time and his two fingers that just did unspeakable things to you tip your chin to look at him.

“Think you can handle it?”

“I can take it, just hurry up.”

“You’re always so impatient you know that.”

He places the tip at your entrance collecting your wetness to help with the initial push.

The stretch is delicious and you grip his arm and shoulder gasping at the feeling of being full of him.

“Fuck. Fuck you’re so fucking tight, squeezing me so fucking good.”

His one arm is braced at the side of your head, forearm spattered with tattoos burning your peripheral vision. The other holds himself, leading himself into you.

He’s seated fully inside and you feel split down the middle in the best way. Burning fire deep within you and you moan for him to move, creating the friction you need.

He starts moving and you both moan, he tips his head forward to watch where he enters you repeatedly.

“So good, fuck so big Simon.”

“You take it so well, love.”

His hand that once gripped himself holds your hip and moves himself like the ocean, fluid and rhythmic.

“Always dreamt about fucking you, you spread out of my bed while I fuck my cock deep into you.”

You throw your head back and he leans back, the warm air that was between you two leaving for the cold air of the room bringing your nipples to hard peaks which his eyes gravitate to.

“Alright c’mon love.”

He takes your ankles and your legs are on his shoulders. He thrusts that much deeper and hits the right spot to make you see spots.

“You like that, fuck I can see how deep I’m going in you.” 

His hand finds your and puts it on your lower stomach and pushes down so you can feel the way he thrusts within you and how deep he reaches, you clench around him.

“Yea you like that.” He's cocky like this, dominant and all controlling. You’re putty in his hand.

“Simon I’m close don't stop please, fuck please.”

He lifts his mask up over his lips and kisses your ankle, biting your calf when he growls and that's all you need to be pushed over the edge.

“Fuck, yea cum on my cock good fucking girl.”

He fucks you through it and leans down to be face to face again. Your legs draped over his shoulders and he hits the right spot with each thrust now, he’s battering you into the mattress and his growling with each thrust muttering about how good you feel and how nicely you wrap about him.

You claw at his chest through his shirt sobbing and babbling and moaning.

“Can’t even form a proper sentence, so drunk on my cock yea? You gonna be a good girl and cum again for me?”

The graphic noises from where the two of you are joining echos through the room and you hope his neighbors aren't home.

“Yes, yes Simon please please please.”

The bed is an orchestra of noises and he shoots a hand up to the headboard, his knuckles gone white from gripping it so hard. Your abdomen is tight, so tight and your so fucking close you just want to cum at the same time as him.

“Fuck fuck fuck, so tight and wet where do you want me to cum, fucking tell me.”

“Inside me, inside me it’s safe.”

Not a beat after that leaves your mouth he’s seating himself so deep within you, you feel him throbbing deep within you and your vision goes blurry, ears gone fuzzy as you both are thrown into the abyss at the same time. 

You hear a crack from above you but you pay no mind as your neck deep in pure white hot bliss.

“Fuckin hell love, really. Fuck.” He's panting, you’re panting.

You stroke his chest lovingly as he kisses your ankle as he slowly lowers your legs from his shoulders. He lowers his mask once more.

You glace up to where his hand still grips the headboard and a deep crack is ingrained in the wood.

You laugh.

“Jesus Simon, you fucked me so hard you broke your bed.” 

He removes his hand observing the wood and shrugging.

“Well worth it I’d say, I’ll invest in a sturdier one.”

“Are you saying you’ll invite me to your place more often?”

“Your place works too.”

You both banter as you both clean up, you shower and he washes the sheets and hangs around the kitchen, letting you some time to refresh.

You come out of the bathroom smelling like him, drowned in one of his shirts and he's leaned up against his kitchen island gazing blindly at the random rugby channel he turned on.

He slides you a beer and you take it gratefully, bumping your glasses together.

“I mean it Y/N, I’m not the kind of man you might be thinking.”

“No Simon, you’re exactly the man I’m looking for, you’re stuck with me now.”

There's a beat of silence before Simon speaks up again.

“I should probably thank Johnny for tonight right?”

“Yea, he pretty much told me to quit my bitching and confront you.”

He sips his beer, 

“Well, for once I can say thank fuck for Soap and his matchmaking skills.”

You laugh and stare at him in adoration, this is the start of something wonderful.

---

Tag list: @theredviolets

[subastian-swallows]

Dark Whispers, Light Vows

CHAPTER FOUR: DREAM OF ME

★ Chapter three

Pairing: Dark!Sebastian x AurorMC x AurorOminis - Love Triangle Fic

Words: 6k

Warnings: Just Angst, really

Summary: “In a race against time, (Auror’s) Alice and Ominis must work together to recapture their former friend Sebastian, an escapee from Azkaban. But when Sebastian begins to use a mysterious new form of magic to haunt Alice’s dreams, she’s torn between bringing him to justice or helping him escape, risking everything in the process. Love, friendship, and the battle between light and dark intertwine as Alice must decide which path she will take.”

A/N: Hello readers, I am sorry LMAO! That's all I can say, my writing has been taking the back burn lately, I am on holidays and recently celebrated my five year anniversary with my partner...SO FORGIVE ME.

"If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice." — Neil Peart

Alice’s head pounded. It felt as if she had been trampled by a herd of Centaurs, unable to string together a single thought from the night before and she could no longer tell—whether it was from how much she drank or how long she had cried. But what could be said, was just how horrible she now felt in this moment and as her hand quickly reached to cover her mouth—Alice slipped off the bed and grabbed for the bed pan. The slow ache in her stomach now, almost resembled the sensation of someone twisting a knife into her side and so she could do nothing more but clutch the bed for support. It was clear as day that she was feeling miserable because of her own choices and yet, a part of her wanted to blame Sebastian—because blaming him was easier than dealing with her foolish decisions.  

Emptying out whatever was left in her stomach, Alice slumped against the bedpost and tried to recollect what had happened—her thoughts still unclear as she attempted to sort through them. She remembered the letter, which now sat crumpled and more ripped against the bedside dresser, she remembered the firewhiskey, which now made her stomach churn at just the thought—but it was when she recalled how the night ended, that Alice’s head twisted much too fast, to look towards the bed. Reaching up to place her fingers against her lips, as the sudden realisation of what had happened quickly filled her head—Alice couldn’t recall Ominis’ reaction and she groaned, pushing her face into the tousled blankets which had begun to slip off the side.  

It felt as if she had done something wrong, or perhaps simply used the excuse of her drunken state to allow herself a moment of happiness and yet, she knew it might have screwed things up. But she still didn’t regret it. Something that she would soon realise, would only get her into trouble, except it was almost as if she didn’t have it in her to care anymore. Ominis had been the stability she needed, never too far, in case she required his support—and although she never wanted him to feel indebted to her, almost as if he owed her something. Alice quickly realised that he did it, simply because he loved her and perhaps that was worse. 

She didn’t mean to hurt him and truthfully, deep down, she knew there was a part of her that wanted to allow Ominis into her heart—to give herself willingly to him, like he had done for her. But, like a disease, which slowly seeped its way through the body, hindering all of her functions—Sebastian simply refused to leave, attaching himself to every part of her, that was too weak to stop it. And so, Ominis was in constant battle with someone not physically there and perhaps, that had already set him up to fail. Except, it seemed that he had never planned on giving up and it was as if he could not love another, the way he loved her—and so, he decided to play this foolish waiting game. He would wait until his last breath left his body if she asked him to and Alice felt a mixture of gratitude and guilt—both morphing into one another and doing nothing but causing her to hate herself.  

Alice would have loved nothing more, than to hide away all morning, burying herself among the blankets. But Ominis would never have let her and perhaps, a part of her was grateful for it. He was always there, ready to pick up the pieces and eventually it just got too easy, Alice found herself almost obsessed with the idea that Ominis was willing to do just that. And yet, although she knew it was cruel holding onto someone’s love like she did, unsure with whether or not she could ever return his feelings and more—Alice still just couldn’t let him go. Feeling her head begin to spin again, as if she was about to vomit once more, her thoughts were cut short—when the door clicked and despite her poor attempt at trying to compose herself, Alice reaches for the bed pan again, the same time Ominis steps into the room. 

“Alice? Are you alright?” Ominis asked, his hand quickly finding its way to her lower back, rubbing it just hard enough to make some sort of difference and when Alice attempted to push him away—Ominis simply ignored her and continued to draw circles against her back. “You should have listened to me when I told you to stop.”

“Where’s the fun in that, Ominis—besides, this is only a slight hiccup.” 

Ominis shook his head when Alice whined and leant over the bed pan again, before he smiled slightly at her misfortune—now rubbing her back a little softer as she seemed to be feeling better. He hadn’t really been paying attention to the fact he was touching her the way he was, until she finally pushed away from him. “Forgive me, I just heard it helps—the rubbing…”

“Why must you apologise for everything,” Alice said, her voice a little hoarse from throwing up and so she slips out her wand to clean up her mess, before turning to see Ominis resting against the side of the bed. She wasn’t trying to start an argument, but she couldn’t hide the fact that it was something she was curious about. “Doesn’t it get tiring?”

“I don’t apologise for everything, you know. Just when it comes to you.”

Alice hummed and pushed back to rest against the bed, attempting to brush off his comment—but it was almost impossible when Ominis said it so forwardly and so Alice ended up nudging him awkwardly, trying to make it playful. “Well—shouldn’t you apologise for barging in on me, then? We might be friends, but I am a woman first…what if I was getting changed.” 

“Alice, you do know that we shared this room—right?” Ominis said, resting his arms against his knees as he fiddled with the ring on his pointer. His expression hadn’t changed from the small teasing smile he had since entering the room and when Alice shifted slightly at his comment—Ominis chuckled softly. “So, technically speaking, I have every right to walk into our room. But you’re right, forgive me.”

“You know, apologising after the fact—doesn’t actually fix things.”

Alice’s thoughts suddenly returned to the night before, but more importantly to the kiss they had shared. Had she done more—she didn’t remember getting that drunk, or perhaps she just didn’t remember anything but getting drunk and so she cringed, resting her head back against the bed. After a short moment of silence, Ominis turned slightly to gently raise her head. “But it is a start—and besides, you always seem to forgive me? So, I suppose it’s just a full circle.” 

“A full circle—what a charming representation of our friendship, Ominis,” Alice said, nudging him softly as if he wouldn’t understand her teasing, except it seemed he had been prepared for it—grabbing her hand, before she had a chance to playfully hit him. She always admired how quick he was, but it was also quite frustrating. “You still should be careful slipping into a room with a woman, who isn’t your wife. You know better than anyone that rumours spread like wildfire.”

“Well, considering I practically carried you back to the room last night—I wouldn’t be surprised if rumours have already begun to spread.”

Alice tensed up at his words, while the hand he was still holding grew limp. She had been so focused on how she felt in the matter and on how it might have strained the already strange relationship she had with Ominis, that she didn’t think about who might have seen them. It wasn’t like she was ashamed of it, no, truthfully she just didn’t like the way gossip followed them—she barely could figure out her own feelings, without having rumours pushed on top of them. Alice was jealous of Ominis in this department. He cared little for gossip or idle chatter about his secrets, always waving it off as if it was nothing—something Alice could never do. 

Slowly attempting to slip her hand free from his grasp, Alice hummed softly, almost positive that Ominis wasn’t going to let go—until his smile softened and he did. His hand lingered slightly in the air, only for a moment, before he dropped it and turned to rest it against his knee again as she pouted. “It seems now that I must apologise, Ominis. I shouldn’t have gotten so drunk.” 

“We don’t need to talk about it, Alice. Like you said you were drunk, we can just leave it at that.” 

“But—I don’t want to leave it at that,” Alice said, subconsciously reaching forward to grab his hand, only to squeeze it lightly and yet, Ominis simply hummed and shrugged her away—Alice now exhaling as she twisted her body to face him properly. “We should talk about it, right?” 

Ominis chuckled softly and turned to face her, his hand reaching slowly to tuck a strand of hair, which had fallen before her face—behind her ear, something he only realised, by the sound of Alice attempting to blow it away. The simple act caused her to freeze up slightly, as she swallowed hard. “And talk about what exactly? I don’t know what you expect me to say?”

“Right, of course. Feign ignorance and pretend it didn’t happen, because that makes everything better.”     

“So how should I react to last night, Alice? Did you want me to storm in here and demand you tell me if it meant something?” Ominis asked, exhaling softly as Alice suddenly stood up and so he quickly followed. He hadn’t come here to fight over last night and what it did and did not mean—all he came to do was to make sure she was alright and so he reached for her arm. “We kissed—well, you kissed me. That’s it. We don’t need to make this a big deal.”

Alice nodded slowly, pulling away from him. She didn’t enjoy the way he was just glossing over everything, but could she blame him? The kiss was merely a drunken slip up, nothing more—and the sooner she drilled that into her own head, the easier it would be to believe. “You’ve always got to make things professional don’t you, Ominis? I suppose that's what makes you a better Auror—emotions come second, right?”

Ominis had no idea what Alice wanted from him. It was as if she had completely forgotten she had spent last night getting drunk over another man and now she was upset, he didn’t want to talk about their kiss. And it wasn’t because he wished to forget about it, no, because that would have been too easy—classified as the normal response to a drunken mistake, no instead, Ominis would have loved nothing more than to kiss her again and again. But he knew that it wasn’t fair, to him or to her and so pretending that it didn’t affect him in any way—was the best he could do, because if she begged hard enough, he might not have been able to stop himself from pushing her against the bed. 

The silence that filled the room was enough to make them both tense now and so Alice no longer wished to hesitate—reaching for the crumpled letter and moving to open the bedroom door in a quick, clean swing. She perhaps had just hoped to slip away for the morning, give them space, before they had to continue their search and truthfully—Alice just needed time to think about everything. However, what she wasn’t expecting to see as she swung open the door was Poppy Sweeting—the new Beasts Professor at Hogwarts and old friend, standing at the top of the staircase with her hand halfway up in the air, as if she was about to knock.

“Poppy Sweeting?”

“Ah, if it isn’t the infamous Alice Dumont—it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Poppy said, dropping her hand quickly and before Alice could even react, perhaps too shocked to do so, Poppy simply chuckled softly and pulled the bewildered Auror into her arms. It was clearly something Alice didn’t know she needed, until she was wrapped tightly in Poppy’s arms and when she eventually returned the hug, Poppy was quick to smile. “Now, you better have a good reason as to why you’ve been ignoring my owls.”

Alice hummed softly and pulled back from Poppy. It was impossible to deny that she wasn’t guilty of ignoring a few letters here and there and perhaps more than she should have. But you see, overtime it just became increasingly easier to pretend they didn’t exist, allowing them to clutter her desk and eventually they stopped coming. “Would you believe me, if I said that my owl…got lost on its way to you?”

“For an experienced Auror, I would have hoped you’d be a better liar.”

It was Ominis who laughed, cutting off any chance for Alice to refute Poppy’s claim and when Alice quickly turned to scowl at him, even though he could not see it—her eyes glanced up almost automatically, when he towered over her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You must forgive my ability to recall memories, Poppy, but if I’m not mistaken Alice has never been good at lying—”

“Says the man that believed anything I told him?” Alice said, shrugging off his hand and turning just in time to see him roll his eyes. But Ominis couldn’t deny her words, because it was more than just simply being tricked into thinking a certain way—no, it was purely just because he would gladly accept anything she said, no matter how foolish. “But, that can be left for another day to unpack—right now, I wish to make up for lost time…if you will allow for it, Poppy?” 

“How could I possibly deny such a request—you both must join me for breakfast.” 

:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

The walk down to the lower level of the Three Broomsticks wasn’t a particularly long one, but it was welcomed—as if Alice just needed a moment of silence, except it wasn’t truly silence, at least not with Poppy around again. She had forgotten how much her friend liked to talk, but more importantly, how quickly she liked to flip back and forth through things that excited her—and Alice just enjoyed listening to her. It became apparent that she had missed a lot, Poppy pulling her towards a booth in the back, before Alice looked back and noticed Ominis had disappeared. She wondered if he was upset with her and yet, when Poppy squeezed her hand—Alice turned back to see her big brown eyes, watching her curiously and so she frowned. 

“I couldn’t help but notice that the two of you shared a room last night,” Poppy said, letting go of Alice’s hand to move into the booth, tapping the table as if she was requesting Alice to sit and when she finally did—Poppy grinned eagerly, leaning against the table, desperate for the details. “Has something finally happened between you two? I had hoped, it would have been sooner—but now is better than…not at all.” 

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating, Poppy. But, nothing happened between us.”

Alice lied, because lying was easier than describing whatever it was she had with Ominis and as she reached forward to grab a paper napkin, slowly ripping it apart—Poppy hummed, not at all believing her. Truthfully, it was a known fact that many of their friends had placed bets on her relationship with Ominis and many of them felt confused by Alice’s reluctancy, well—all except Poppy. “Alice, you do know…that it’s not wrong for you to move on and be happy, right?” 

“It doesn’t always feel like that though, does it?” Alice said, crumpling up the half torn napkin in her hand, before she attempted to ease the tension with a forced smile—one that Poppy realised was fake almost immediately and rolled her eyes at. Alice however, ignored it and focused on the pieces of napkin against the table. “Perhaps, it’s Merlin’s way of punishing me—or I suppose, I simply just need to make up my mind.” 

“And why don’t you? I mean, Alice—is it truly a hard choice? Does Sebastian…even stand a chance now?” 

Looking up from her hand, Alice suddenly felt Sebastian’s letter grow heavy in her pocket and she hummed softly as she flattened the rest of the napkin against the table. Perhaps Poppy was right—Sebastian was no longer part of her life and everything just felt intense and confusing again, because of resurfaced memories. But even with common sense, trickling in and Poppy’s words ringing true, Alice could only think about the letter and if Sebastian’s words still had any truth to them. “It should be that easy, but—oh Poppy, do you really want to talk about my dilemmas with love? I would rather hear about the new Beasts Professor.” 

“You and I both know, that’s the last thing I want to talk about,” Poppy said, reaching forward to grab Alice’s hand, keeping it still against the table—before she could pull away and Poppy leaned down to peek up at Alice. It was clear that Poppy had no other motivation, but to learn about Alice’s feelings surrounding Sebastian—and more importantly why she was being so foolish. “Tell me something Alice, are you truly stuck in the middle—or perhaps, are you leaning to one side?” 

“I thought…I was slowly reaching a point where I could choose—openly, without the gnawing sensation of lingering feelings. But, now I am not sure.” 

Alice smiled sadly now, her eyes finally lingering away from their hands as Poppy slipped free and sat back against the booth—barely needing to wave the barmaid down for drinks, before two cups of coffee were sent over. The warmth from the cup was enough to draw a lengthy exhale from Alice, until she quickly lifted it to her lips and took a sip—Poppy swiftly doing the same, as if to think over her response. It must have appeared to be more obvious now. The foolishness of her inability to choose, to give her heart to Ominis and yet, no matter how much others told her—how she told herself, the choice was never up to her on whether Ominis would stay. The choice was always his.

“Will you humour me with something, Alice?” Poppy asked, her question breaking Alice from her thoughts as she nodded, barely even acknowledging that she could be agreeing to anything. And yet, Alice didn’t need to fear what she might be asked, knowing full well that Poppy knew when to reel it back with her questions and so she placed her cup against the table—and looked up. “You’re confused, right? Since Sebastian is back—which is completely valid, might I add. But think of it this way, when you see a life with Ominis…what do you see?” 

“Well, I suppose with Ominis I see—comfort, warmth…and the feeling that my worries will eventually just melt away and all I’ll be surrounded with is stability.”

Poppy smiled, perhaps too eager at the thought of Alice and Ominis, hidden away from the world in their little bubble and she hummed softly—placing her own cup down against the table. Even Alice couldn’t deny her words sounded welcoming, as if she was trying to convince herself and yet, maybe a small part of her knew she didn’t need to. “And, what of Sebastian? What do you see when you think about life with him? A life with the version of him now and not the one that you knew?”

“With Sebastian…? Well, I haven’t really thought about it,” Alice said, resting back into her side of the booth as she looked away from Poppy, just for a moment—as if just by saying his name he would appear and she pouted, looking back. Poppy must have realised her hesitancy and reached forward to grab her hand, the act alone making Alice smile awkwardly. “I suppose, it would be a life full of danger…and passion, but one where I lose everything—I’d constantly be on edge, just waiting for the day it ends.” 

“Now, that’s two very opposite life’s you could live, but the real question is, Alice—which one do you actually want?”

Alice looked at Poppy for some time before she hummed and slipped her hand free, bringing both now to her face—rubbing her temples as if it was the hardest decision in the world. And truthfully it was a little foolish, perhaps even incredibly foolish—considering she hadn’t seen Sebastian in years and to fantasise over ‘what if’s’ now seemed rather insane. Lowering her hands, Alice laughed softly, mainly at herself. “This all doesn’t matter though does it, Poppy. He’s no longer in my life—”

“Then why the need for a decision? Why are you so afraid to give yourself to Ominis?” Poppy asked, pulling out her wand and tapping her cup to refill it—before she placed it against the table. She couldn’t comprehend why Alice was still allowing Sebastian to hold onto her heart, as if she was not allowed to love another and Although Poppy knew well of everything they had been through—Ominis had been there too. “You’ve thought about him as more than a friend, right? More than a colleague? It’s obvious, he has thought about you as something more.” 

“It’s complicated, Poppy—”

A sudden commotion from outside, caused Alice’s words to falter to a complete silence, before she twisted in her seat to watch the inn’s door swing open. It was only a glimpse, but it was enough and when she swiftly stood up—Poppy followed. Ominis had what appeared to be a young boy, by the scruff of his neck as he attempted to squirm from his grasp. Alice and Poppy glanced at each other just as quickly as they made it outside and when they reached the scene—which had now donned a crowd, Ominis seemed unfazed and Alice was almost positive he wore a smirk. 

“What’s your problem! I told you I’ve got nothing in my pockets,” the boy quipped, his hands desperately clawing at Ominis’ hand. It seemed to be doing little but cause him to hold on tighter and when Alice stepped towards him—the boy pointed to her. “Hey lady! Help me out, this blind fool is making things up!”

Alice looked up at Ominis, whose eyes flicked towards her—as if he sensed her hesitation and his smile softened. Moving closer and pulling out her wand, the crowd gasped in unison as the boy seemed to do nothing, but squirm harder. “Do you not know who this is, boy? Does he look like the type to stop you, without reason?” 

“I ain’t done nothing!”

“Well then, you wouldn’t mind if I emptied out your pockets, yes?” Ominis asked, clearly already onto the boy’s pathetic tricks, attempting to pull at the heartstrings of those around him—wishing to be let go and when Alice smiled, flicking her gaze to Ominis, his smile seemed to have grown. But despite the confidence that oozed off the pair, the boy was adamant on holding his ground and refused. “Just one tap of my wand and your secrets will spill. So—why don’t you do us all a favour and just confess.”

The crowd seemed to be unsure what to think now, seeing a grown man grabbing the scruff of a young boy’s neck—but no one dared to step forward, perhaps too afraid of Ominis’ reaction if they did so and so they simply watched on with curiosity. Alice seemed to notice this quicker than Ominis, or perhaps he just didn’t care—and so she stepped forward and tapped the boy's legs with her wand. In an instant, trinkets of all sizes, potion bottles, sweets and anything else you could think of—came spilling out of the boy’s pants and quickly began to clutter the ground around them, the crowd now gasping at the revelation. 

“An extension charm on your pockets, I’m a little impressed,” Alice said, reaching up to place her hand against Ominis’, who happily dropped the boy and as if she already knew he was going to try and run off—Alice swiftly casted incarcerous and the boy fell to ground, with a great thud. “Ah—you will need to try harder than that. Ominis, have the proper authorities been sent for?” 

“They’re on their way now.”

Alice smiled and looked down at the boy who seemed to have been cursing them beneath his breath and yet, had clearly given up on struggling—knowing well that there wasn’t much to do now but wait. Slowly moving to Ominis’ side, Alice smiled when he pulled out his wand and enchanted the stolen items to return to their original owners, before the crowd was eventually dispersed by the Hogsmeade officers. “So, this is what you were doing when you deserted me? Finding trouble?” 

“Deserted you? What are you talking about, Alice?” Ominis asked, his eyebrows furrowing quickly as she watched his eyes flicker, a soft reaction he did when racking his brain for answers. Alice laughed softly, realising that her teasing had done nothing of the sort and so she exhaled and placed her own wand away—while Ominis looked down at her. “I was simply giving you a chance to catch up with an old friend. Should I have stayed? I mean, if I did—then how would you have been able to talk about me?”

“W-What? We were certainly not talking about you.”

Ominis smirked slightly and hummed, though Alice could tell he didn’t believe her. Despite his teasing, it would have been impossible for him to know her conversation with Poppy and yet—the way he looked down at her, she no longer was sure. Pressing her hands against the small of her back, Alice turned to see Poppy speaking with a local—before Ominis placed his hand against her head. “Keep your secrets then. But you really do need to get better at lying.”

“Now, I have no idea what you’re talking about, Ominis,” Alice said, slipping free from his hand and turning just enough to see his smile soften, but only for a moment—before he chuckled under his breath and nudged her. It felt nice to feel normal with him again, despite last night and this morning—but even Alice knew it would not last. “Besides, we have more pressing matters. Such as, figuring out our next move—any ideas?”

“What about Feldcroft?” 

Alice hummed softly and nodded. She too, had thought about Feldcroft and if Sebastian would be foolish enough to return home—and truthfully, the risk was probably too enticing to pass up. Catching Poppy’s attention, Alice smiled as she waved her over, before she turned to Ominis and reached for his arm. “It’s a start, if anything—hopefully we can find some answers. Places he’s mapped out, or more.” 

“You both aren’t leaving, are you? You just got here,” Poppy said, slipping past a few crowd lingerers, before she made her way to Alice’s side and when Ominis chuckled softly at her question—Poppy pouted and flicked her gaze between the pair. She knew their visit wasn’t a social one, but she had almost hoped that they’d make a little more time to talk. “We still have so much catching up to do?” 

“Poppy—we’re sort of on a timer here, the Ministry needs Sebastian brought in as fast as possible.” 

Alice frowned at her words, knowing she hated the very thing she had come to do and yet, she swiftly shook it away and forced a smile—when Poppy’s eyebrows furrowed. It was more than obvious that she wanted to continue to pry, but instead she exhaled and Alice welcomed the fact—she was so understanding. “Well then, before you scurry off—Ominis, I must thank you. I received word a couple of weeks ago that you managed to clear all of the poacher camps around the outskirts of the forbidden forest. I appreciate it.” 

Ominis nodded and the two shared a short conversation on poachers in the surrounding areas, before he slipped her a letter. Poppy then turned to Alice and pulled her into another warm embrace, squeezing her softly—before expressing that she wanted her to try to be better at sending owls and Alice reluctantly agreed. After a short while and a great deal of promises that Alice wasn’t sure she would be able to keep, Poppy waved the pair off as they returned to The Three Broomsticks to collect their things. Reaching the room now felt a little strange, perhaps because of the events that had happened in there—but regardless, they still had a job to do and Alice was just hoping to get it over with as quickly as possible.

“So, you’ve been helping clear poacher camps?” Alice asked, tapping the rest of her belongings to swiftly pack themselves into her suitcase, her eyes now focused on Ominis’ reaction to her question and she smiled when he did. “You’ve been busier than I thought, Poppy seemed really thankful.”

“She’s been rather busy with teaching and when she asked, well who could refuse a request from Poppy Sweeting.”

Alice laughed softly and nodded, noting all too well of her first interactions with Poppy in school, being far from a normal one and she moved to sit against the bed—leaning back slightly as she exhaled. It seemed strange now, recalling memories, good or bad and Alice’s smile softened. “Well still, you did good. I suppose, sometimes I just forget—how good you actually are.”

“Should I not be? Are you half-expecting me to do something bad?” Ominis asked, moving to sit down beside her on the bed, his leg brushing up against hers and yet, Alice didn’t pull away—so neither did he. Something felt oddly calming being close to her, as if she centred him and a part of him knew that she felt the same way—except for her, it just seemed harder to admit. Leaning back slightly himself, Ominis nudged her softly. “I think deep down, we all have good and bad in us—but we determine which side we show. I just don’t plan to leave a bad mark on the world, or my name—”

“You aren’t your family, Ominis and people are noticing it. Now, more than ever.” 

Ominis nodded and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. It was comforting to know that Alice always treated him like a person, above his name—something that for a long time, had been hard to come by. Well at least, before the Sallow twins, before that Ominis simply succumbed to the hatred that was simply forced onto him, with little chance to retort it. But now, little by little, he was changing that and it finally felt good. “I think what helps the most is having such a supportive cheerleader in my corner.” 

“And I’ll always stay there, Ominis, no matter what,” Alice said, nudging him back as she now leaned forward and when she did, Ominis gently placed his hand against her knee—and for a moment, even just a simple touch sent electric shockwaves through her body. Slowly reaching to place a hand on his, Alice laughed softly. “We just have to be there for each other, alright? This job…it’s going to hurt and we just need to protect each other.” 

“Alice—”

“Not another word, Ominis—just agree with me and say you’ll protect me…protect us.”

Ominis squeezed her knee and slipped his hand free from her grasp, which now seemed to burn his skin. She didn’t need to ask such a ridiculous request, because he had already made up his mind to do just that and he would do anything to make sure he kept that promise. “Of course I agree with you and do you really have to ask? Alice, I’m ready to protect you with my life.”

“I don’t need you to be prepared to die for me, Ominis—”

“Well, you don’t have a say in that, do you,” Ominis said, cutting Alice off before she could say anything more, or perhaps continue to argue with him over what he had said and so she grumbled and looked away. Ominis smiled at the sound of her defeat and softly nudged her again, just to make sure she knew he was teasing her—but still meant every word. “Alice, we’re in this together, alright? But, I don’t plan to hesitate, no matter what.” 

:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

The rest of the evening was uneventful, with Ominis finishing off a few small jobs here and there, slipping in and out of the inn—when he thought he was being sly about it, but Alice couldn’t seem to sleep. They had decided to stay one more night, solely for Ominis to complete business before they left and although Alice was hesitant about staying—she eventually gave in, simply for the comfort of a nice bed. Ominis allowed her to sleep first, simply requesting that he would take the floor, after everything that happened—but Alice refused. She had no right to deny him a good night’s rest, simply because she was embarrassed about kissing him and truthfully, it felt comforting to have him close by. 

Alice always had trouble sleeping, but today felt different. It felt like every time she laid down, something crept over her and sat directly against her chest, as if it wished to make itself known to her and each time she almost fell asleep—it woke her up. Eventually, perhaps with the help of a sleeping draught that she had brought with her, Alice drifted off to sleep and it suddenly felt like she was transported into something different—almost as if her dream…had been hijacked. Soon, a wave of nothing and everything all at once, washed over her and Alice felt like she was trapped—and it became clear, something was wrong.

*** 

The rattling was what Alice heard first, before she could see anything. It was as if she was awake in a darkened room, in which all of the light had been sucked out of and yet, it still felt warm. Slowly the darkness slowly grew less dark and more clear, as if someone had opened a window and began to remove it with a simple action, but she was still alone. Alice was used to dreams, nightmares, which had latched onto her—since her final moments with Sebastian, but this felt different, it didn’t feel like hers. 

When the darkness finally cleared and Alice could now see where she was, let alone her hands before her, it was the slow sound of a whistle—soft and familiar, that caused her heart to suddenly leap into her throat. Panic. Alice felt her chest ache and she almost forgot how to breathe, when a figure slowly appeared—too far to determine who it was, but with the way her body had begun to react, it was clear she had an idea. Stepping back slightly, almost instinctively, Alice shuddered as the whistling grew louder and the figure grew closer. 

Swallowing hard and reaching for her wand, she gasped softly and realised she didn’t have it, but more importantly—she no longer was wearing her nightgown, no, instead she was wearing a green silk dress. Glancing back up towards the figure, Alice felt her mouth dry and her hands begin to shake, the air in her lungs now growing heavy and she felt it linger in her throat. Stepping back again, the whistling stopped, just as the figure did and then he appeared before her—changed and so very different from the boy she knew, the air growing cold as he smiled and eventually reached towards her. 

“You’ve become quite the woman, Alice,” Sebastian said, appearing in front of her now as his fingers brushed lightly across Alice’s jaw causing her to freeze, her breath now completely stolen from her and yet when he noticed—Sebastian simply chuckled, almost too softly and brushed his fingers down to her neck. “Breathe, sweetheart. We have so much to discuss.” 

[toxooz]

random question, but do you think that abio would have had a teeny little bit of a crush on ollie when he was younger? like, because ollie was being genuinely kind to him, which he wasn't expecting and very possibly wasn't used to, so his feelings of gratitude and appreciation and platonic love morphed into a bit of an infatuation? i might just be projecting a little bit, because if a dude who i thought was going to make my life absolute hell made me feel loved and appreciated, i would probably catch feelings lol, but i am curious.

(also this isn't me being like "ohhhh abby should have ended up with ollie instead of ponti arrrrggggghhhhh" because i absolutely love all of the current pairings i'm just curious about the inner workings of abby's brain lol)

GOOD QUESTION i got an ask for this same topic so my answer last time was:

"WHELL realistically speaking yeah he probably did a little bc u gotta think the wee lad never had a friend in his life and was severely touch starved, then suddenly a big muscular popular jock who's genuinely nice wants to be his friend now so it's more so a mild case of ''is this person being nice to me or am I in love with them'' lmfao so I wouldn't doubt Abby had a lil crush on him plus it probably confirmed his Hunch of being gay BUT im not going to hint at this in the comic bc i don't want there to be this Big thing abt shipping Ollie and Abby and for me to make it look like im ''dangling a carrot'' when in reality it's mainly portraying the growth of their friendship and basically letting Abby experience what genuine platonic love is before he experiences romantic love w/ Ponti. imo i think its a lil important to portray Abby having friends first and knowing social interaction in general for lack of better words b4 The Ponti Era begins so to speak lmao i just think its important in general life to have a strong friend support system and not just romantic relationships so im essentially showing that with Abio n Ollie.

Another reason why im not going to go into it in the comic is bc whenever Ponti does come around and Ollie has a very understandable hatred for Ponti because of what he did in the past i don't want that to be downplayed as "ooOoOOh lOvE tRiAnGlE Ollie's jealous ooOooO owoowo" the tension between Ollie n Ponti comes down to pretty serious stuff and i dont want the possibility of it being seen as petty relationship drama bullshit as a sorry attempt for a underhanded plot device sO yeah i already occasionally see comments abt shipping Ollie n Abio which is fine i think thats inevitable but I'd rather not play into that by hinting that Abby has a tiny crush on Ollie"

AAAALL that being said i am contemplating maybe hinting a tad bit at Abby kinda getting flustered by Ollie but I'd want it to be more of an Abby exclusive thing as in it's something that He's dealing with not just an empty "ooh he has a crush on Ollie will they get toGeThErR???" basically like a foreshadowing to Abby coming out that way when he does come out (which thats gunna be like a big breakthrough chapter not just a 'look he's gay everyone please clap' ) its not seemingly out of the blue and like i just Made Him Gay at the last minute yknow what im sayin

[ashplayz]

Ambrosius + Ballister x Y/n (movie version versions)(poly)

One could never predict the strange twists of fate, and Ballister Boldheart learned this lesson in the most unexpected way. The institution he had once Idlioed he had now seen for what it is and the corruption behind it and he wasn't the only one. Y/n the General, a figure he had admired from afar had now joined forces with him and his sidekick Nimona. The irony was not lost on him; the man who had been accused of murdering the queen and working with the very monster he swore to destroy when he took his oath to be a knight. was now working with the captain of the guard to clear his name. Y/n was a formidable force, their stern exterior hiding a heart that sought justice above all else. They were convinced of Ballister's innocence, their intuition honed from years of service. The real villain, they believed, was the Director. And so, they agreed to help Ballister, their mutual goal bringing them closer in an unlikely friendship. This camaraderie did not extend to Ambrosius Goldenloin, whose faith in Ballister had wavered at the critical moment. Y/n had little patience for the knight's doubt, the fact that he was able to see the man he swore to love as the murderer of the queen despite him swearing he didn't do it irked Y/n. their dislike for him growing with each passing day. As the events unfolded, the Director's true nature was revealed, culminating in her demise. The Institute needed new leadership, and Y/n was the natural choice. However, their promotion came with a bitter pill: Ballister would no longer be fighting for the Institute. Nimona had seen the corruption behind it from the start and now Ballister to was able to see it for what it is. Although of course he had faith that under the leadership of Y/n the Institute would once again be returned to its former glory. Y/n was hurt by the absence of Ballister though they refused to admit it even to themselves. Their feelings for Ballister had grown beyond mere friendship, morphing into something more profound. But they were the General, and the General did not allow personal feelings to interfere with duty. Meanwhile, Ambrosius had his own struggles. His admiration for Y/n's strength and dete

rmination, their unwavering dedication to justice. Had spawned feelings for them. His feelings towards Y/n mirrored those he had for Ballister, yet were even harder to acknowledge. His and Ballister's relationship had grown even stronger after everything was over and done with meaning that Ambrosius's rift in his feelings between two people was not easy for him to hide. It didn't help that Y/n maintained a close friendship with Ballister. Ambrosius was confused as to how someone can love two people at the same time he had heard of polyamorous relationships before but never thought he'd be in the position where he had to think about it. Ballister was pretty quick to catch on to the weird feelings triangle going on between the 3 of them and he would be lying if he said that he did care for Y/n deeply just as he cared for Ambrosius. He was the one to suggest that they invite Y/n on a date with the two of them as a triple date and after this went on for some time until eventually Ballister proposed the idea of a polyamorous relationship between the three of them after all he had always been the one who challenged norms, who dared to dream big. He proposed a relationship between the three of them, a bond that would allow them to navigate their complex feelings together. And Y/n was now a part of the unconventional family built with Ambrosius Ballister and nimona. It was an awkward transition punctuated by moments of awkwardness and doubt. But as they worked through their feelings, they realized that their relationship, just like each of them, was unique and beautiful in its own way and they found that they were stronger together. And in the end, they realized that love, in all its forms, was worth fighting for.

[the-friendliest-freak]

I’m not sure if this might help me with getting his design down, but here are some disjointed thoughts I’ve been having about The Narrator’s appearance

Triangles everywhere, eights everywhere. In the wrinkles of his skin, in his hair. It’s not natural, it looks fake, it looks forced - like a parasite morphing its host

Doesn’t blink, I like the idea that he can’t anymore, if he looks away for one second Stanley might make an incorrect choice!

Under the mask he wears his skin is charred and flaking, under the wig is either random tufts of hair that are barely holding on or very very short, cropped hair

There’s a pack attached to either his chest or his back, maybe both, containing a battery, a voltage store, and a circular main socket if it’s on the back. Wires connect from the pack to parts of the body.

The throat is modified with a microphone-like device which amplifies his voice

Around his neck, or maybe somewhere else, there’s a shock collar - in case he tries anything

There are three bullet hole scars on different parts of his body. He doesn’t remember how they got there or what they are

Arms and legs are decayed, with insect-like appendages poking through?? I’m not sure about this one, though I want to have him have something weird with his legs to explain how he can walk on walls

He’s still human

[bathrobe-hero]

So i joined a pokemon discord server some time ago and have been join in there writing compations so im going to post my entrys. The first promp i join in was

"A mysterious object fell from the sky and landed near town. What could it be?"

Wishing on a fallen star

“I’m telling you it fell, right out of the sky” The Lairon walk further and further along the dirt path, away from the light of the town and into the darkness of the night.

“You sure it wasn't just a Charizard that fell asleep while flying? It is getting late” Bastiodon followed behind, not convinced that there was anything out here so late.

“Can't have been. It shined like a star, not fire” Lairon kept her eyes to the sky, hoping to see if any more fell after.

“You think a star fell? Year right. Im sure it was Jirachi coming down to give a wish to the first one who finds them” Bastiodon kept his eyes on the dirt road, more worried about thieves coming after them than any falling stars.

“Well if it is then im getting that wish first” She stopped in the road, looking to the forest just off to the side of it. “This way come on!” She ran into it with no hesitation, creating a path in the bushes as she went.

“We are going to get lost”

It wasn’t hard to follow after Lairon as she left a track in the forest foliage and Bastiodon was in no hurry. The path of trodden down plants and broken branches, right to were Lairon was waiting, looking intently at something. “Well did you find it?” He said move up to see what it was. “What stuck coming up with a wish?”

“No its not that. I don’t know what it is?” She was staring intensely at what Bastiodon could now see was a creator with something in the middle, smoke coming off it.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going to get a closer look?” Bastiodon nudged at Lairon side, trying to get her to go closer

“No? What if its dangerous?” She took a step back, weary of what ever it was.

“You drag me all the way out here, only to back down now?”

“Look I thought it was going to be something cool”

“Fine. Im going to touch it” Bastiodon took a step into the creator hoping this is just some junk so he can go home.

“Hey I found it first!” Lairon leap past Bastiodon, but was unable to stop herself from skidding and ramming straight into the object knocking it away. “AH No!” she scream out at fear of ruining her chances of a wish. Scrambling back to her feet to check it was still ok.

As they both approached it more carefully this they, they could finally see what it was. A black triangle, smooth and unscratched, unmoving.

“I think you broke it” Bastiodon said, unimpressed at this rock.

“It not my fault” she shot back.

“Ok then, if you say so. Im going back then so if you…” before he could finish speaking a sound unlike anything they had heard before came from the rock as it seeming started to glow with a deep purple. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

They both stepped back as four tentacles came out of the rock, unfolding into a blue and orange face that looked back at them.

“Jirachi?” Bastiodon was frozen still. This was nothing like he imagined Jirachi to be like. The story's always showed them as much smaller.

“Jirachi! I wish I could fly!” Lairon on the other hand was ecstatic at the chance to meet a Mythical, eyes wide open and shining at the pokmeon that look back with a blank expression. It two unblinking eyes looking down at the two of them.

“I don’t think that’s Jirachi” Bastiodon tried to wispier to Lairon, trembling with fear.

“It has to be, Look it even got the third eye in it chest” That third eye did seem to be looking at them, still glowing as the rock it came from did. The tentacles it had for arms seemed to morph together, forming arm with hands at the end of them, hands that reached out for them.

The hand grabbed Bastiodon by the horn, pulling him off the ground “Hey get off!” but with his feet dangling, no amount of struggling was going to free him from the grip.

“It Happening I’m flying!” Lairon screamed with joy as they broke through the tree line, herself being garb by one of her back spines. “You can see so Much! Look at the town! Its so small from here”

And that was something Bastiodon did agree with, the look of the town from the sky with all its lights, it was starting to look like stars in the sky just on the ground. He began to wonder if they looked like a shooting start in the sky now, just like the one Lairon saw that got them into this mess. But the thought left quickly when he saw just how high they had gone, and that they were getting higher. “Can You put us down! This is too high!” But the one carrying them didn’t seem to notice. Looking upwards as it carried them.

“This is so Cool! Why didn’t we try this earlier!” Lairon was swinging her legs in excitement, having never known the skys could be this freeing. She had lived her life on the ground but now with just the night sky around she felt like it was a new life.

Bastiodon didn’t have any of these thoughts, only of what happens if they fell. They would hit the ground and then, he didn’t want to think about any of it so instead he would just focus on looking up. Up at the floor coming right for them. “H-hey Look Out!” They were going too fast to stop. This was going to be it, splatted on the floor by a pokemon that was meant to grant wishes. He closed his eyes, to await the inevitable. And in a moment he felt the cold of the floor, the dampness sticking to his skin. ‘This is it, the afterlife.’ he thought to himself, preparing to open his eyes to see what fate lay before him.

Slowly opening them, only to find the floor past them, a hole having appeared were they were heading. “What? How? I thought we were”

“We’re above the clouds! This is so cool!” Lairon shouted back to Bastiodon “Look at the sky, This has to be taller than any mountain.”

They finally came to a stop. The one carrying them held them out still. Giving them time to appreciate the view. The stars looked close enough to touch. Lairon was too awe struck to even make a sound. And they stayed like that for some time.

“Hey” Lairon finally broke the silence. “Do you think this was a good wish?”

Bastiodon didn’t know how to answer. They were stuck so high up with no way to get down, but the view was something he didn’t think he would ever has seen without it. “Its winning me over” A calm was taking over the fear the more he stayed up there. He almost wished they could stay like this forever.

But he could feel the grip on his horn loosen, and all the fear came rushing back. “Hey your letting me slip” But his plead fell on onto a blank face that stared back at him before letting go.

They both fell back down, back through the clouds and the ground getting closer at an alarming speed.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” Bastiodon flailing wildly wishing for anything to stop his fall.

“This is so much fun!” Lairon started twirling in the air like she had done this before.

“HOW CAN YOU BE HAVING FUN!”

“This is what flying is like! It must be”

“How do you know what flying is like!”

“I wished for it”

“And I wish not to become a pancake!” They were going to hit the treeline any second now.

The one who dragged them into the sky flew by them. It was all a blur but Bastiodon could have sworn they were thinner than before, going fast enough to grab them both like it was nothing. And as if his wish had come true, they started to slow down.

Hitting the trees was not a smooth landing for any of them. The branches slowing their fall as the broke and the way down, before finally coming to a stop just a meter above the ground. They dangled for a moment before being let go, landing on the ground at last.

Bastiodon groaned as he landed on his side, Lairon on her feet.

“That was So Cool!” She jump around happily. “I can’t believe I was flying!”

“That was the most terrifying thing that's ever happened to me” Bastiodon tried to right himself, but was shaking too much to stand.

“I Know Right! My heart was racing like mad. Its was the best!” She continued to dance around, not feeling any sort of nausea unlike her friend.

He couldn't believe he was hearing this. How could she find that fun? “You've gone mad”

“Come on I’ve always wished I could fly. Thank you so much Jirachi. That was the best day ever!” She looked up at her wish granter who was still floating a few meters off the ground. Its face still showed no emotion as it just stared back, Its arms haven gone now and back to the two tentacles on ether side. And with it seeming happy with its work, it looked up and took off, back to being a start shooting across the sky.

“Bye Jirachi” Lairon tried to wave a goodbye, but her short legs didn’t get very far off the ground. “Come on we got to go tell the other we meet Jirachi” She started running back down the path she came back to town. “Come on you slowpoke!”

“Hey wait up!”Bastiodon was still shaking while as he walked after her. “When I get back, I’m going to my bed, and never leave the ground again.”

[insurrection-if]

If I may ask what are some of ur favourite names? And what's ur favourite genre to read/write? I would also love to hear more about your brainstorming and outlining process when it comes to ideas/characters? You've built such an amazing world with such deep characters. I'm just fascinated by your big brain. Great work!! 💗💗💗

(づ•ω•)づ♥ I'm so unspeakably flattered!! Thank you so much for your curiosity, interest, and kindness - this message was so nice to see in my inbox! My response is so long, apologies in advance(!), so I've broken it into parts!

Part One: Names

Aha, my favorite names in-game or for people in general? （；^ω^） In general, my favorite names off very the top of my head would be: Damian, Ignacio, Antonio, Dmitri, Roman, Stepka, Maria, Dolores, and Diana. In-game, my favorite names would be: Elouan, Imka, Falda, Elov, and Leysa!

In my writing process for original characters, I typically choose names after the character's ancestry / region of origin / background has been established. I research baby names based on nationality / region / ethnicity and take into consideration the meaning of the name (hopefully across multiple websites), its sound / pronunciation (to see if its fitting to the image of them in my head), the likelihood of the parents / guardians of the character choosing that name, and how realistically I can buy someone having that name if I were to meet them in the street (rather than something that clashes or jumbles as a 100% fictional moniker when paired with their surname).

Then, the hardest part for me and the true test for its finalization, I look up the numerology of the given name and its breakdown to see if it reflects the character I've imagined them to be - just to reassure myself the vibes are truly right, haha! Some names in Insurrection might not have the most fitting numerologies anymore for certain characters as they subtly morph over time (unless I were to take the time to verify them all again) but they're all established enough to be sticking as the final names. Honestly, I'll have characters nameless for the longest time as I draft everything else about them, haha!

Part Two: Genre

When it comes to reading, I adore fiction so much! Particularly, I find myself drawn to fantasy and westerns as a whole, though general mythology readings are always captivating to me! (I was obsessed with Greek mythology in elementary school, haha!) In college, I developed a deep love for modernism as well - I could read and analyze modernist literature endlessly, I loved it so much! I like romances as well, though rather sparingly outside indulgent fanfiction. If it's romance novels, I tend to prefer historical settings with a deep consideration to the cultural / societal / psychological constraints on the relationship and complex interpersonal relationships to add some drama atop it all. I also love court intrigue in general, especially if it has romance threaded through, haha!

As for writing, well . . . I always hate my writing! My online fanfictions (drafted, shared, or simply brainstormed) all pertained to romance (reader-inserts too, don't shame me!) with not a one spared from a love triangle at minimum, haha! I am terrible at identifying the genres for my ideas, but my absolute favorite concepts all carry an element of the supernatural or fantasy, maybe mythological too - either to maximum extremes or subtle nuances.

Part Three: Brainstorms and Outlines

My brainstorms are somewhat different for every project, though a running trend tends to be a song acting at the center-point / anchor for the overall feel / a climatic moment / general idea that inspires me.

I can name these songs across three different (favorite) fanfiction concepts of mine: L.V.S. Your Lady Waits by Shayfer James (climatic moment), Wooden Heart by Elvis Presley (an overall feel), and Säkkijärven Polkka + Dark-Eyed Cossack Girl (combined for a general idea).

If you can identify my fanfictions based on that . . . Please keep them secret, haha! 人 ´∀｀)

For original fiction ideas it’s the same: If Only by The Kooks (for a general feel of In Blind Reverence), Old Yellow Bricks by Arctic Monkeys (for the protagonist and world atmosphere vibes of Bird Caught in Wires), my beloved Roma Fade by Andrew Bird (for my even more beloved "Faith & Beauty" - bleh placeholder name - for the general intrigue and corruption of the romances). Works like Hunters (image origin), This World Was Never Ours (image origin), Retribution (personal doodle inspired), and Insurrection (fandom origin) are outliers to this general music cornerstone to the core thought.

Though, in its current edition, Saints at the Gates by The Golden Dogs might be serviceable for a centerpoint as it’s easy for me to imagine the characters and events in relation to the MC almost like a theme song, haha! (　´∀｀)b

Character creation varies as well across works. For "Faith & Beauty", characters are largely influenced by spirit animals (or, more so, the values associated with them and their relation / embracement / challenge of those values) and a specific art-style. In Blind Reverence has characters that largely originated from Pinterest images of a similar aesthetic / design which I projected "personality vibes" and backgrounds onto before then further them fleshing out in relation to the Seven Sins and Heavenly Virtues as the basis.

Insurrection characters, however, started in the framework of a fandom before being essentially melted down and reforged anew - some much more drastically than others. The Superhuman AU they ended up in allowed me to retain numerous elements of their original designs and then toy with essentially throwing them a new world.

Music is often key to characters for me, especially with Insurrection. Many of their dynamics or changes came because I would be daydreaming in the car as a song played and my youthful mind wanted to make a "music video" out of it. I'd consider what character(s) best fit the song, create some scenario / relationship / trait to go along with it and voila!

For Example: In early character development, essentially his conceptualization, I attached Uriel to Puttin on the Ritz as sung by Rufus Wainwright. It inspired his fixation on status—his deep need to be accepted into some sense of social standing, particularly a class of people perceived greater, finer, or lording over others. He has a desire for flashiness and elegance, extravagance and understated refinement. Appearance is crucial to him; wanting both to comply with and blend into the ideal image of high class while also wanting to be striking enough to be distinct from all the rest. He wants live seamless among the upper echelon yet cannot help but always feel like the outside observer simply mimicking and commentating upon what he can never be apart of. He's also a bit of a showman, trying to appear suave and familiar while catching the eyes and ears of all those around. So, yeah, my brainstorms are sometimes like that.

If I want to imagine a younger Elouan, I listen to This Charming Man by The Smiths, Blue Diamonds by The Long Winters, Atomized by machinegum, or Rue Saint-Vincent by Yves Montand. If I’m imagining the antics of Fyodor, Anatoly, Panya, and Gabriel all together then I do so while listening to Hard Bass. For Niccolò, I used to listen to a lot of jazz and (electro) swing. And if I want to imagine all the HAWKS in a more casual setting, vibing and socializing and dancing, its always to the sound of either Soda City Funk by Tim Legend or the Dancing in the Moonlight Remix by Johnny Lectro (and original track by King Harvest), haha!

Oftentimes, I become so distracted by the daydream in association to the song that I forget I’m listening to music entirely as just let my mind wander around the vibes set in place or an idea I stumbled on during the process . . . And then I have to restart the song because I didn’t actually get to enjoy it, haha! ₍₍ ◝(・ω・)◟ ⁾⁾

My general rule when it comes to character writing, however, has become background, background, background! I remember my constant fascination with the parents of characters as a kid, always wondering how someone went from a child to something like a General, Assassin, or anything. This might have originated from two things about me:

1) I tend to have this constant, persistent thought towards all real-world and historical individuals: "That person was a baby once." I watch a documentary on some notorious criminal or leader or icon and I think, "Someone had to feed them, change them, and teach them how to speak. Enough basics to keep them alive, and their treatment towards that life in their care affected them long-term."

2) I like to consider nature vs. nurture, which perhaps explains my love for modernism, haha! I consider the innate core of the character, how they might act or think or desire at their roots, and then I try to filter it through what I've laid out from their background (which sometimes might not bear any affect at all) to see if the end result changes.

When it comes time to really flesh a character out, I like to backtrack to childhood. Who are their parents / guardians?: personality-wise, occupation, lifestyle (financial or aesthetic, in their past and present), their relationship to one another, their presence / absence, parent-figure or blood relative, what were their circumstances pre-, during, and post-birth, etc. How would those parents raise their child (expectations, discipline, attitude towards parenthood, etc.) and how might that style of parenting mesh with the childhood personality I imagine the character to have? It's not all so detailed as an entire biography, but the general beats / feel / lessons are there.

The end point is already known to me as I undergo this process, yet it can be reformed or altered as I connect the dots from A to B. This helps me to better "walk in their shoes" as I try to consider what they might feel, perceive, know, or do, though I'm no omniscient being that'll always have my bases covered, haha!

For other WIPs, I haven't delved all that deep for every character's roots and detailed origins, but I still try to conceptualize the most recent and impactful years of their life to sense what they cling to, desire, claim, feel, perceive, etc. It sharpens their image more from a blob to an outline in my mind to do so, though I still like to have a few "blob" characters to make versatile in my daydreams - leaving room for them to morph or split or meld over time. (Like how Anatoly and Dearil are split from a "blob" character!)

Insurrection characters predominately originated as fandom OCs, which makes them unique compared to all my other original characters (outside fanfiction). This influenced some aspects of their foundation: social hierarchy, their gift type (to an extent), and relationships to one another (factions, friendships, romances). They've all changed plenty since then though, so their fandom roots might not be so obvious anymore.

Originally as well, the HAWKS had not been the protagonists. The original protagonists had been: Spoiler Character, Kyle Kelly, Marcus Fan, Irene Loveridge, Aisling "Abigail" Ryan, and Benoni "Viorel" Briedis. Yet, upon switching to interactive storytelling, I felt it railroaded the MC's ideological range on the Gifted to band with this unit . . . and it would be difficult to introduce all the other characters at this point in the timeline as well. (That point being when this particular ensemble is formed.) Not to mention that I struggled to conceptualize them as serviceable ROs. Then it became a crossroads on which faction to make the new protagonist ensemble: CARDINALS or HAWKS.

Since the HAWKS could include an MC of any ideology due to the forced nature of their recruitment, they won out, haha! Minor characters (outside Sigmund) suddenly became protagonists, and it was quite the transition and what had once been distinctive but minimal characters needed the depth and draw to create an appealing ensemble. So it simply became a task of fleshing out those backgrounds based on what had already been asserted about them, scrapping and reviving elements from their original conception and dynamics while seeking out songs that struck me as suitable for their brainstorm sessions.

Its also just a lot of loose associative thinking in the early days, "trying on" this event or that occupation to see what's most appealing to me. Some characters have had countless "wardrobe changes", and others simply had a "hat quickly stuck on their head" as they walked out the door with their first outfit, haha! Then comes the fun part of seeing how they all might then interact as an ensemble.

Or, well, sometimes a character is simply born from a role in relation to another that expands without my notice until I can't shake them loose, haha! (´∀｀)

TLDR: My brainstorm and outlines for characters are largely determined by whatever music I happen to be listening too and my fascination with childhood influences.

[grim-faux]

3 _ 22 _ The World of Chasm

First - An Echo Rebounds Through the Silent City

TW The usual dark themes. But some darker than usual. Please read with care.

 The speek was… familiar. Not the familiar in shapes and marks that gave suggestion to the broken world and creatures that lurked in the long corridors, or the shape of the world she and other kids drifted through to reach the scarce few safe areas. Something about the way the marks dug deep into the wood, the style of the strokes to form the varied and distinct shapes, of figures and broad shapes she recognized. That was all familiar. And she thought the creatures looked… even more familiar.

 She knows the monster with the lumpy head. That other kid wasn’t there, but she recognized the one with the blocky head. A triangle mark made the body, and a pair of twigs carried an... axe.

 Right. The door was locked and she was left. She doesn’t know for how long, but it was until her stomach groaned and it hurt to stand for too long. The sing box helped. The repetitious turn and twirl of the crank and resistance of the gears, all moved her from the musty air and the chilled space of the room. Listening to the sing blotted out the creaking walls, the thumping steps, and the shrill whining. Everything went away and she could forget, if only for a short while. Forget and leave the scraps of memories in dark lagoon of nightmares.

 She set her palms onto the grainy wood and stared at the speek of the boy. Why did she think this was a boy? The marks were vague shapes, but she was certain. She remembered Him. She just couldn’t recall specifically where He was in her head. When did He grab her hand, where did He take her? There was something about mad and frustrated, too. She could understand (almost) why the other kid scratched out the speek. Something about the axe made her angry, and the hurt. All of it made her quake and wobbly.

 “Hoo.”

 Six slid her hands off the wall and turned only slightly to the kid with the flashlight. Right sat on the floor among toys and unknown knickknacks, his flashlight glittered through a transparent block. The neat thing about the block was not that it was a solid or specific shape, but the glow from the beam glittered through the rectangle shape and threw colored patterns on the dusty floor.

 “E’i dekhu.”

 She moved to crouch across from Right, and sat there staring at the vibrant colors glistening at her feet. How did that work? Colors. And on both sides? This mystified Six. Sorcery like this was unnatural and frightening, but right now, it wasn’t doing anything. That could change. It might delude her into security, and then trick. That wouldn't happen again. She knew better.

 She did cast a suspicious glare toward Right, as he shifted the flashlight and caused the glimmer of shapes to twirl and shuffle. It was like fire, but not hot. The boy did speek about fire once. It made her curious. She didn’t know much, aside from keeping it caged and tame. Something about the flames breaking loose and stealing his pack. He didn't do speek about what happened, unless when he didn't think she was looking. The boy always growled at smoke.

 Cautiously, she slid her hand across the floor and touched the fringes of color, but quickly snapped her hand back. Did it burn? She didn’t think so. The colors made her eyes water, though. It made her think hard about a place behind her dreams, a memory of something but the sensation was odd. Halls and running. She was always running. The click of steps rattled through the veil of nightmares, ringing clean and precise, always cutting through the panic of her fleeing.

 Coming. Him follows. It lived in these withered corridors, navigating the twisted passages and chambers filled with false places. This was its lair, and if her legs couldn't carry her, the monster would find her. It would steal her again, and it wouldn't give her another chance for flee.

 Six gave her head a shake. The colors morphed and the shapes changed from boxes to triangles, and kept shifting into paper-thin beams. How did it do that?

 While the bars lay small and behaved, she lashed her hand out and patted the color. Still no burning. With more confidence, she batted the floor and the colors sitting placid and inert. Each touch and swipe fortified her assessment that these colors couldn’t hurt, even if she lay her hands under their care. She did snap her hands back when the colors glittered and shimmered. Just to be safe.

 When the kid shifted the flashlight over to the next side of the block, the colors moved! She couldn’t figure how he put the beam on one side, but colors fell from a different side. Nothing made sense! And despite how she turned or peered into the scuffed block, she couldn’t decide how the beam bumped through the chipped wall. It felt solid and heavy, and in no way hollow. Some kids had hollowed heads. She remembered. She broke one open once, so she knew what it felt like.

 Once she was certain the colors wouldn’t hurt, she let the fluttery patches sit in her palm. It wasn’t warm and felt like nothing at all. She tried to cup her palms into a bowl and held the wispy shards, but that was impossible with how Right shuffled the flashlight around. It annoyed her whenever the beam smacked across her face, though the kid kept the searing light fixed to one flat side of the block. When the kid slid that harsh light across her face AGAIN, she grabbed the nearest animal toy and flung it his way. Right crashed backwards, the stupid flashlight went drumming across the floor.

 Six swiped the crumbs off her coat as she stood, and gave the room another scope. She and the kid worked on the gathered packages for a while, but not much of the food was good for eating. The first thing she ate gave her a bad tummy stab, and she sulked for a good while. That gave Right a chance to gobble on his dibs, but she did have enough resolve to scoot some boxes away and guard them. Despite not feeling good, she did give Right a few scars for his stubborn head.

 “Psst.”

 The kid tucked the flashlight away and moved to the doorway of the room. Six scurried and followed in step, both of them peering around the doorway edge before creeping into the hall. None of the other rooms had anything, except more scratches and speek pictures. Not all of the marks made sense, she thought the pictures resembled animals from books, but it was impossible to make connections. Aside from speek, no food and no clues about whoever... or whatever, gathered the food rations. It might've been an other kid, since a room had a nest.

 She suspected it could be pack, with all the food and marks. The thing bugging her was all the food stored. A monster must've wiped out the whole pack. Staying in one safe area for too long was dumb. Danger was relentless and never stopped.

 They didn’t bother to call for the other kids. Good riddance. Dealing with Right was big enough, he was okay but... one more was a lot, and duck boy.... As it was, she and Right had a hard time keeping away from the Case Worker. If they hadn’t broken off from the others, the monster would still be chasing them. She hadn't seen that monster in… forever. It made her wonder if the pack that once nested her, were taken by it. For whatever reason, the Case Worker wasn't interested in this place.

 That was why she and Right stopped in the dwelling. Nothing had chased them off. No televisions, either. Some Viewers did lurk on the lower floors, clambering around or staring out the windows, mindless and vacant husks devoted to staring at storm clouds. The Viewers didn’t bother them, so long as they had something else to look at. It was rare they encountered one thundering through a corridor in a mad dash to reach… somewhere, and usually in the process plow into a wall. That was something Six never got tired of watching.

 The two of them did have close calls, but only when they panicked or got surprised by the abrupt appearance. She was (sort of) amused when one time, while exploring a dwelling, she observed Right go right up to a Viewer blissfully lost in window gazing. The kid did an elaborate kick to the back of the creatures leg, and bolted for a crate – where he hid for a long while. The Viewer didn’t budge, aside from the expected sway and twitching.

 Navigating through the building wasn’t going too bad, considering the only issue they had were Viewers rampaging at random shifts of the weather. The weather didn’t matter, but it was the only way to really decide on a passage of time, peculiar as it was. She and the kid only saw a few black corridors that really needed a flashlight, but most of the lamps and bulbs in rooms gave enough radiance to find their way around without too many disasters. And avoid fissures in the floors.

 For a long storm and some bright clouds, the two wandered over and between two levels of building, unable to find a passage or route that would get them out of the corridors. After rechecking open elevator shafts, all broken and with no lever to call a lift, the Right kid found an actual rope tied to the partially hidden door gate, shuttered in the splintered wood of the doorframe. Below was thick and black, all robbing any indication of where below would be. It could be a floor, or the center of the building was hollowed and delved deep beneath the cities crust. Even with Right using the flashlight, neither could make out anything but more empty and swirling dark. It was thicker than the Hunter’s bog.

 A rope was a warning, too. Kids made bedsheet ropes as a solution to no routes. It took a lot of time to knot and twist and tie something sturdy. Real rope didn’t need anything but tie and drop. The only good thing about this, was that whoever previously used the rope maybe didn’t fall to their doom. Maybe. The rope could have snapped somewhere below, too.

 Right was already climbing down, not a thought or second guess about it. Without a better option, Six lowered herself down as well. In a few shuffles, the hazy doorway above began to dissolve into the hazy murk. Along with it, a shape that pursued her through the half sleep terrors that haunted her mind. The deeper she went the more obscure, and the less that glower burned into the hood of her jacket. There were times she couldn't bear looking at the shade. It wanted her to... know something. In the haze of memories, some voice wanted to be recognized from the nonsense chatter, but she could never recognize the speek. The sounds sifted beneath the ramble, sizzling static, like crawling through a television screen, and being disjointed between worlds. She arrived into a place she didn't recognize, but felt connected to it through sharpened instincts.

 She could no longer see the rope directly in her hands, and didn’t loosen her grip for fear it might vanish entirely. The only consolation was that Right's stifled huffing echoed through the abyss, giving some fix on his whereabouts. She kept track of the clumsy, breathy sounds, to prevent herself from bashing into the kid. She really didn’t want that invading silence to eat away at the fading wail, and she didn’t want to wait ages for the anticipated impact. If a thud ever did echo forth.

 By the time the metallic drum changed tones around her, Six was barely able to hold on. A few more shuffles and dips, despite how pained her arms and shoulders became - she couldn't falter. Don't let go. Somehow, she managed to cling on keep her descent paced with Right's measured strafe. The air and smell changed, that much was clear. They should be—

 A harsh sheen sliced across her eyes, blinding her with a searing blast that left her seeing red and black blotches. However, she could make out an orb of light illuminating dust, and the area where Right crouched, chewing on his palms. The kid gave the walls a look over, tilting his head back.

 She let her toes touch the crusty bottom before releasing, even then, Six stumbled under her own weight and fatigue. There was no time for rest or stalling, she hurried after Right when he dashed toward a glimmering bulb set into a curb encircling the bottom of the shaft. A round but cracked porthole breathed musty air, the abysmal opening the only optimism available in this dank pit. The interior beyond lay dark and ambiguous, same as this ravenous chasm they willingly climbed into. Regardless where it could lead, Right flashed his light into the hole and began anew.

 The narrow tunnel sloped downward, but eventually leveled out. Every step sank into soft grit mingled with pointy rocks, the beam glowed across specks of glass or other stuff. At some distance, the path broke into other segments. Right chose an opening and went – sometimes Six wondered if Right knew she was following, or cared. It didn’t make a difference to her, but she didn’t want to get lost in the winding tunnels they began stumbling through. Sometimes he used the beam to find his way, other times he seemed to go off fickle choices.

 None of this impromptu navigation ever alarmed her. Kids didn’t get much in choices or anything when getting around, especially while being chased or on the cusp of capture. Any path could lead into danger, but in those moments it was best not to think that far ahead. Doubt or fear got kids killed, hesitating stole the momentum needed for a desperate leap. Do-overs didn’t happen. Caught was....

 Jumping was better than fall. It was always better to jump… and… not….

 Right struggled with the grate above. It was wide and specks of light brushed over his shoulders. She scooted in close and pressed at the icy metal, grunting with the kid as rust chipped loose and globs of mist scattered over them. They barely got the lid up enough to brace it onto the floor above, then they could coordinate and shove it to the side. They made enough space to crawl up through, but it was a tight squeeze.

 She hadn’t noticed, but her feet were covered in mud. As they walked across the tiled floor, gummy liquid soaked the stains off her foot soles. Much of the floor glistened, the fierce light from above burned against the liquid, erasing blemishes and buckling with a pristine, glossy sheet. Counters stretched high, corralling much of the floor at every wall with bent cabinets. Atop the counters, stacks of plates leaned against each other; the food streaking the interlocked layers seemed to judge their trespass in their domain.

 No danger lurked on initial inspection. Six stayed alert, ears tuned to the dull gurgle of water and the splattering rapids gushing over sink rims. She hurried after Right, when the kid zeroed in on a stack of plates left on the floor. She took a last glance around, before scraping some food lumps off the cracked sides of the plate. Meanwhile, Right jammed his pockets full of goop. Meh. Eat first.

 That would have been a good thing about Right, him not being picky. If he didn’t try stealing her food or wasn't always sneaking in close to sample whatever, when she had her hands busy shoving something into her mouth.

 She growled and shoved him away. While the kid was on his back and momentarily defenseless, she was going to pounce. Up until another kid crashed into her, and she with this other kid crashed into the plates. Six’s reflex was scramble away and get her bearings, but the floor was slippery from the mud and slime – the other kid must’ve tried the same, but skidded into her. Rather distance and gather themselves, the two settled to claw and bite on the floor. And hiss.

 In the tussle, Right managed to get up on his feet and snag the other kid by the back of his pants. Right wrenched sideways and launched the kid off.

 Six made it to her feet at last, her coat dripped with water but otherwise she was okay. She stood beside Right, while he shuffled away from the other kid.

 “Oya.” Right pushed her, and she didn’t resist.

 Taking her eyes off the other kid, she skimmed across the cabinets. They could either follow the wall, or climb up a set of drawer handles and—

 Right did a sharp pivot, while Six stumbled on her heels and toppled backwards. Six barely glimpsed the figure emerging from a wall of hot mist clustered around the burning bulbs, the face twisted into an ugly sneer.

 A hand snatched her wrist and jerked her upright. Right tugged her towards a set of island cabinets mounted solid in the center of the room, and after the swiftly fleeing figure of the other kid. She tried to rush her feet, but the floor was slicked and she was losing her balance with each footfall.

 At the same time, a nasally snort rocketed behind the kids. The heavy boots boomed against the floor, the creature was gaining on them with its strides and its mastery of the soaked ground. If not for the flood rushing over their feet, or the sleek floor, or the rocking steps, they would have left it miles behind.

 She and Right darted around the edge of the island counter, close to the broken doors sat a pile of boxes with the scent of earth and greens encapsulating them. They both ducked between the stacks and hunched low, hiding in the faint shade cast by the heaps. The hulking feet staggered a ways beyond the hide place and stopped on a hairpin. When inspiration didn’t strike the creature immediately, it tottered forward, gaze locked on a trolley cart parked beside another line of cabinets.

 When Six began to move, she saw that the hide place was not entirely original. The kid that rammed her before, he was squatting behind a box and peeking between wilted green stalks. She and… it looked like a her, they looked at each other. This girl gestured to her and Right, then turned and slipped away behind a lumpy sack.

 She and Right shared a glance. With a shrug, Right tucked down and followed the general path the other girl went. Six took a deep breath and did the same.

 The creature was dressed in some kind of suit with a bow, and its face was all gnarled and the lines in its scowl sank deep into its flesh. It knelt and examined the trolley, pushing aside cylinders and bowls on the shelves. It mumbled to itself, while the items it touched clinked.

 Six listened, while she and Right followed the girl to a space separating the row of cabinets ahead. When the distinct clatter of bottles ceased, she and Right ducked beyond the edge of the cabinet and crouched down. The bombarding steps moved further away, and the sizzle of running water cut off. Six tilted her head inside the hood of her coat. Her heart pulsed, and black shadows whirled around her vision.

 Or was the shadow around? She tipped her head back, searching the counter edges and the swirling patches prowling near the the rooms misty background. Nothing immediately alarming loitered in the furthest corners beyond the tile - the places where children went to be caught. Clear. If they didn’t get cornered anywhere, kept near walls or put tall obstacles between them and the monsters, they had a chance. They could find a way. But only if they kept moving.

 Never stop. Never slow. GoGoGo....

 The girl tugged her sleeve, and tipped her head aside when Six looked her way. Six nodded – it was okay. Everything was fine.

 Behind them and across the floor, the monster found the collection of boxes and sacks they once hid in. It opened lids and kicked a crate, all the while making a nasty rasping noise in its throat. The work it undertook to search or flush them out, made Six shudder. She thought it was safe to hide in cover, but they would've been blocked in. No place was really safe.

 On first glance of the cabinets curving along the inner walls, no hide or openings stood out that might get them out of sight. The cabinets covered the wall, in some spaces the cabinet gave way to shelving and a countertop with a thick slab on the high surface. They could squeeze under the ledge and hide, or pull a cupboard open and duck away - until the coast was clear. Right veered ahead of them, moving on a set of doors to the left side of the room. This would put out of cover-

 The creature thumped around at the boxes and made a deafening racket, more than when the water was gushing.

 Right moved ahead, detaching from the group and walked quickly. She and the girl hurried to keep up, each of them casting their eyes back to the edge of the counter and the slowly descending shape of the monster as it stooped from view. Good.

 In the lull, Six took a moment to gather in the new girl, if they were a girl. They had scruffy hair hacked short and wore an oversized shirt, but the sleeves had been ripped, or wore away from use. About the same attire Right wore, and more drastic than what the other kid garbed himself in. Looting good armor was hard, and keeping armor was harder still. She hadn’t had to fight anyone for her amazing coat, but it didn’t look like much and was a like a searing flame against everything drab and decayed.

 But that’s what made her important.

 A sharp bark cut through the room, and the three glanced back. Or the girl did. Right and Six raced the last meter to the large doors and shoved! Six lost her footing and crashed to her shoulder.

 The girl caught up fast and hoisted her up, as a pack, they heaved against the door. The three lined up by the center edge and pressed full body, grunting and snarling at the stubborn access refusing to cooperate. Their toes slid, the doors resisted – Six could only remember one other time like this, but without the monster. All the same, it almost ended badly. The black pit and dozens of suspended beds haunted her mind.

 Don’t look, just push. Six hissed, and rammed her shoulder into the solid panel. The monster shrieked as it closed in, it’s large shadow cloaked them with a chilling embrace.

 A rush of dry air exhaled as the door creaked an inch. The girl scooted through the wedge first, pausing only to hold the panel from her side and shove her feet against the other door. Right caught Six by the shoulder and hauled her through.

 Inside the new room, none of them dawdled over the layout. Right and her shot after the girl, ducking among towering wire aisles, the lowest shelves corralled them in with more crates and moldy boxes. Six’s reflection dashed across an occasional large jar or glossy ceramic pot sticky with fluid - she’s not sure, but once she thought a dark silhouette peered back at her with a sheet-black stare. With a blink the illusion vanished, but the subdued hissing drowned her ears.

 The boy faded in the same way. His eyes burned through the tatters of memory, but she can't place where-

 Both doors swooped inward with a dramatic explosion and the hulking creature thundered in. The thing made certain the doors shut tight at its back, before it swept around and hunched over to inspect the gray floors. It lifted one foot then the other, examining both soles.

 Six caught the girl by her collar before she could dash away, and hauled her back. She pressed a finger to her lips when the girl looked at her. After a few deep breaths, the girl nodded. She with the girl and Right, huddled down behind a shelf loaded with sacks. The lights doused as the monster paced by, grumbling to itself and snuffling. It watched the ground intently, sometimes stooping to check between boxes or pushed aside glass bottles. Its voice echoed with a groan and it kept moving.

 If they got higher, it wouldn’t find. It was so-so focused, any movement would warrant its immediate fascination. Staying quiet and small was their best defense, but staying put was danger.

 Six swallowed, and turned her gaze to the highest shelves. The spacing of the slates was too much for climb, and all the tall containers had soft of tipsy bottles in-between - nothing to use as a boost. The end corners would be too risky, but they could think about it. While searching beyond the endless layers of wire racks, she spotted a tall but narrow shelf at one end of the room. She pointed.

 Right turned his head. It took a brief search, but he caught on and gave a nod. He hoisted himself onto the lowest wire shelf and shoved aside one of the boxes. She and the girl followed, removing themselves from the aisle before the creature stepped into the space they occupied.

 Despite how careful and well thought out their movement was, the solid containers were not as stable as they looked. They had several close calls where a misstep nearly sent a jar tumbling, or the contents of a overburdened box spilt free - they had to work fast to keep everything from clattering to the floor. Other times they had drawbacks, due to a large and weighted row of crates barring them from reaching the end of an aisle. In some sections they could get on their stomachs and slip under the shelves, but not always. Filth and all manner of garbage, junk, and other castoff chunks of rot lay in thick heaps beneath the slates. Sometimes their hands or clothing got stuck, and the residue yuck clung to dirt.

 Once, Right reversed backwards and smashed into Six! An echoing Crack! rebounded when the metal door of a trap snapped shut, missing his toes by a breath.

 The clatter of the horrible contraption alerted the monster to stall whatever rummaging it was doing on the other side of the room, and it listened with a silent ferocity. Soon, too soon, it began roaming. The creature drifted among the rows, shuffling closer to the range where it heard the trap go off.

 Six rushed down the aisle with Right and the girl in pursuit. She skid on her heels and scrambled the other way, when the monster changed its direction in the parallel lane and rushed in the opposite direction. Rushing to head them off. It gave a bellow, the crashing steps rattled the rusted shelves.

 They reached the end of the second to last aisle and darted around the edge, coming fast onto a pile of crates cluttered among the shelves. The kids crashed into the rubbish and clambered up the sunken lids, scrambling for solid footing or clawing at soft and unknown materials shrouded in the murk. They tumbled to the floor on the other side, in all the scuffling and panic something clattered.

 Six didn’t see who, she thought it was Right, crashed into a jar on the shelf. Ceramic dashed across the floor, sending fetid juice and goopey clumps to spread around them. The goo stung her noise and the substance soaked into feet and hair, and spread for miles. The whole side of – it was Right – was doused, and his head was slopped with the stuff. He was quick to recover and catch up, as they made it to the end of a island counter mounted to the cement floor.

 A hand shot between containers on the low shelf, knocking aside several boxes and displacing a jar of squiggly stuff. Right scarcely vaulted over the grasping fingers and scrambled away before his foot was snagged. More parcels and an assortment of metal tins fled off the shelves, as the creature swiped at bottles and whatever it could dislodge.

 It was chaos. Glass and thick fluid splattered everywhere, coating the children in waves. Along with powder of every color and consistency – Six couldn’t stop between hacking or sneezing, and her eyes stung despite the protection of the hood. She licked her palms and dragged her hands across her eyes, much of the gunk clumped but she managed to scrape an inch off. It didn’t abate the burning.

 A shape darted to the other side of the room and slipped beneath the low shelf of a counter. “Aye,” she croaked, and rushed after the other kid. It only occurred to her that the pummeling abuse ended, and the barreling steps had resumed. Careening for them with terrible speed.

 Someone was beside her and hauled her along. They raced among several counter islands as more glass erupted at their ankles, the liquid flashed a variety of green and amber shimmers, while the smell burned her eyes and the cuts left on her shins. She nearly lost her footing on a clump of slime, but she stole back her pace and lunged beneath the low shelf of the bench counter.

 Whoever was following close, crashed into her back and shoved her the rest of the way up beneath the low shelf. It was Right, cramming her all the way into the furthest wall. They shuffled back and forth, shoving aside moldy food or whatever else left to melt into grunge. It was near impossible to see, until the flashlight clicked on.

 The girl gave a snarl when the creatures hand reached under the shelf and clawed around.

 To the side, the flashing light rebounded with Right’s movement. He clucked, while scooting through the dirt and grime on his feet and hands. Six was about to follow, until the sharp beam lashed across her aching eyes.

 The girl grabbed Right by his vest and yanked him free of the fingers. A scuffle of limbs, fumbling, and garbled yelps ignited. All while the flashlight spiraled where it landed, beside the flickering silhouettes of black flames. The girl kicked at the underside of the shelf, in the next flare Right was scooting on his backside, in another twisted jumble the girl wrenched sideways, with another blaze a set of fingers curled down.

 Six recoiled further into the muck. In one sharp movement, pale light glared between a pair of shoes. One kid crammed in close to her shoulder and looked up. It wasn’t—

 Whack!

 The girl’s breathing came in suppressed, ragged wheezes. Six realized she wasn’t breathing, and her whole body was locked tight like a coil. They huddled in stony silence, not moving, muscles wound tight to snap.

 Thwack!

 WHACK-CRACK!

 The flashlight was no longer rocking where it was abandoned. It lay facing the shoes, the vibrant beam glowed off a thick trickle pooling in a crack of the floor.

 In the scant hush, the girl slipped away from Six and crawled closer to the wall furthest from the shoes. Without a glance, Six shimmied after the other kid. Neither dared touch the orphaned flashlight. Through the sturdy bench, the whisper of sawing and clacking hummed through the stained wood.

 The work that the monster undertook diverted its attention, giving her and the girl a chance to get out from underneath the cabinet and take in the new surroundings. They didn’t dare consider the shelves and up above. Stay low, keep in cover.

 She and the girl maneuvered as far from the creature as they could, before they risked moving into the open. They searched for any indication of a way out, a door or hidden passage. After roaming, and the tedious stall on ever grating scratch - all staying at the bench. If not for the smudged handprints and footprints left by other travelers, Six would have missed a duct concealed by a crate of compost.

 It took both to move the weighted container aside, barely enough to squeeze into the broken flue. The girl did pause to grab a piece of some sort of chunk out of the crate, but hastened to follow Six.

 Wandering among the cold and narrow passages was bleak, the murk was sullen and choking. Even after traveling for some time, and the smell of the place fading, Six kept clenching her fists and looking back. Not at the girl, she wriggled ahead on the bazillionth time Six glanced over her shoulder. For whatever reason, she thought a hand or… something was creeping through the vent, following her with sinister purpose.

 The blank void carried silence and offered only an emptiness that thrived in the suffocating, black vacuum. More than once, she thought the strange shadow in her shape crept along, staying just out of sight. It had to be her head insisting something was missing, or someone was… everyone was lost. That never changed. But It followed like an omen, demanding her to recall some discarded idea. It warned her about… things lost, and better off forgotten.

 Yet every time she looked back, nothing was really there. No boy, no other kid… no one. Everyone was gone. It was best to keep moving and stop looking back.

Next

[madmaryholiday]

finished watching the netflix wednesday show.

i enjoyed it, but it did feel a bit like.

fanfiction?

i mean i guess it kinda WAS fanfiction, albeit officially-sanctioned fanfiction. but like it felt like the kind of fanfiction where someone takes a character that's rather sparse and adds so much of their own details that it's more like an OC than anything.

not that i'm necessarily against that or anything, but it was kind of weird to see someone who looked like wednesday addams play out a story that i guess TECHNICALLY counts as an addams family story but features things like love triangles and mean girls and and a conflict between the magic school and the small town next door literally referred to as a conflict between "outcasts" and "normies."

the acting is great overall, and most of the character relationships felt genuine. i just can't quite shake the feeling that i'd have written this story at like 14 (though admittedly they are fairly self-aware with the edgelord stuff, and i definitely would NOT have been at 14).

tbh the standout for me was the guy who played thing, who apparently was there on-set in a blue morph suit with different wrist stubs glued onto the top of his real hand depending on how thing needed to be moving around. like it was genuinely impressive how much physicality that guy got into one hand. like it felt like thing had actual mass and a center of gravity. it's pretty cool.

no plot spoilers, but i think they also did a pretty good job on the whodunnit aspect of the show. there are multiple credible suspects throughout the season, and while there were a few points where information was Very Conveniently revealed, i mostly give them a pass there. they had a lot of world-building to do, and sometimes you just need a little contrivance to keep things moving.

anyway, it's definitely worth watching if you can be patient and let the edgelord thing run its course. it is actually building to something, i promise.

[euargh]

 ramblings

There’s just something really... unnerving for me with AI creating art. It’s like... there’s no soul behind it, yet it looks real and a lot of the time, the swirls and movement look exactly like what I see when I close my eyes about to sleep, such as swirls and things morphing, twisting, moving. dots, eyes, suddenly forming. I can’t explain it. It’s just so unsettling to me to witness art generated by something not alive that reminds me of the kinds of things I see when laying down. Just... creepy. Years ago before Garfield became a meme, I saw Jon and Garfield distorted and warped as they were evolving through this chart on this paper I was reading in the dream. It looks eerily similar to the things AI generates. ANYWAYS, I’m weird and I do support technology and think it is fascinating AI has reached this far and maybe my brain is a glitchy robot hybrid or something if it generates similar imagery and I’ve been associated with extraterrestrials before during childhood and adolescents (and they abducted my mom once in 2006 and left a bloody triangle on the palm of her right hand and she was so traumatized by that she refused to speak about it and nowadays after surviving about 6 strokes, she can’t remember it... which sucks), but I don’t like thinking about it because why bother? They don’t benefit me in any way. lmao sorry, I got freaked out by this website https://replicate.com/lambdal/text-to-pokemon it’s really cool and amazing but at the same time I guess it’s related to uncanny valley like how lmaoooo I freak out at mannequins at the store and this puppet I was going to modify to be a mini Super Evil Genius for my YouTube channels scares the living crap out of me whenever I enter my room. I misplaced its small scientist labcoat and I’m sad. Hopefully I can find it or something. I want to make a shitty Morbius video. wtf was I even talking about gawd damn it

[lca-portfolio]

Lucia Conde Arenas

Triangle assignment 

The medium of film has never been more popular and readily available as it is now, for decades we have seen the evolving shifts in the medium through styles, genres conventions and technology.Constantly changing and bringing new perspectives to light. “What happens when the lights go down in a movie theatre, we leave our own world for a while and cross into the world of other people”. The medium of film, although constantly evolving, also has its standards. We are very used to seeing certain kinds of narrative structures familiar with their cinematic elements. We see into the world of another person by seeing a series of actions that happen in their surroundings. Using editing to give the viewer information on the location or thoughts and perception of a character. What would it be like to go into someone else's world through their perception of films? Mark cousins film The story of film: A new generation released in 2021 tells a different kind of story, one without narrative, beginning middle or end. Telling the story of film through perception of thematic connections between films. Cousins' film reimagines the narrative structures we are used to seeing in film or documentary. Cousins displays this story, entirely through examples of films, using elements in a film to explain a thematic perception. A continuous flow of thematic thought from film to film. “Occasionally Cousins’s commentary verges on the superfluous, simply describing what is on screen, although there is almost always a shrewd insight there:” “Essay films are visual thinking. reverse film production: the images come first, the script, last” . How an image from one film can thematically transcribe the ideas of another. Cousins opens us to his line of thought, his link from film to film  allows the viewer to follow into his layers of interconnected ideas. .From dream-like films, films about bodies and faces, documentaries, horror, films that made genre conventions and films that challenged them. Mark Cousins describes his analysis between films almost as an internal monologue, and we follow as if it is a story itself. “In film theory and criticism, delay is the essential process behind textual analysis. The flow of a scene is halted and extracted from the wider flow of narrative development; the scene is broken down into shots and selected frames and further subject to delay, to repetition and return. In the course of this process, hitherto unexpected meanings can be found hidden in the sequence, as it were deferred to the point in time in the future when the critics desire may unearth them. With the spread of digital technologies, this kind of fragmentation of film has become easier to put into practice. In this context textual analysis ceases to be a restricted academic practice, and returns, perhaps, to its origins as a work of cinephilia, of love of the cinema”

From the start of the film Cousins begins to explain the dream-like elements in film. How the structure of a film itself is more or less like a dream, stepping in a theatre for a few hours to experience something and suddenly be taken out again. Cousins describes 2018 Finnish film Flame as this “A woman looks but then the image seems to buckle, crack, melt and through the melting a man, and then the woman again” Cousins uses his language to reflect the visual image of a film and uses it to describe a thematic perception  “is this a bit like what it feels to watch a film today, to melt into it, to dissolve into the looks and glances on screen”  Cousins therefore is able to connect the visual theme of melting and morphing in Flame, to how another film makes the viewer melt and morph into the context of the film, perceive the characters as a voyeur through the camera movement “ they go down on the escalator, down into his dreams and hers”. Cousins therefore opens us to understand his connection between these two films that would otherwise seem unrelated. Unrelated in narrative and many other elements, Cousins' use of visual language, uses the image of melting and descending to display a small link in the way both these films entice a dream-like feeling in the viewer. Melting to another dimension in everyday circumstances. Cousins' film further evolves not as a specific analysis into any film or concept, rather bringing to light many links in feelings or thoughts evoked by films. Lighting each link almost as if to reveal an interconnected web in the stories told through film. 

Is this Mark Cousins intentions with his film? to bring to light  films inter relativity and how this forms a new generation of film. “almost like a hyper-innocent form of criticism, wide-eyed with wonder at cinema’s brave new world” Cousins speaks of films that pushed the boundaries of the conventions of cinema. “Films who wipe the lens so as we can see better”. Cousins, in describing how films broke conventions to reveal something that could not be seen before, is also describing his own film. An attempt to reveal the underbelly in the workings and developments of the convention and their impact on the viewer. The importance of understanding the layers and interconnectedness in cinema and therefore the importance in his own film, almost as an attempt to justify his obsession with cinema. “This is an unashamed celebration of cinema as an art-form: Cousins is an aesthete.” . The Story of Film does not really give us any answer, we see Cousins' perception entirely through how he perceives other films as an omnipresent narrator. Therefore barely scratching the surface of any specific film or idea, cousins film can sometimes feel like an overwhelming regurgitation of filmic statements. 

Words: 953

Works Cited

Bradshaw, Peter. “The Story of Film: A New Generation Review – Invigorating Study of 21st Century Cinema.” The Guardian, 6 July 2021, https://www.theguardian.com/film/2021/jul/06/the-story-of-film-a-new-generation-review-invigorating-study-of-21st-century-cinema.

Ciezadlo. “The Essay in Space and Time: A Conversation with Filmmaker Mark Cousins.” Afterimage, vol. 46, no. 1, Mar. 2019, pp. 17–24, https://doi.org/10.1525/aft.2019.461003.

“CRISTINA ÁLVAREZ LÓPEZ & ADRIAN MARTIN.” The Audiovisual Essay, 10 Sept. 2014, https://reframe.sussex.ac.uk/audiovisualessay/frankfurt-papers/cristina-alvarez-lopez-adrian-martin/.

“Deep Focus: The Essay Film.” British Film Institute, https://www2.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/sight-sound-magazine/features/deep-focus/essay-film.

Keathley, Christian. “La Camera Stylo Notes on Video Criticism and Cinephilia.” Sites, https://sites.middlebury.edu/videoworkshop/files/2014/09/Keathley-La-Camera-Stylo.pdf.

Khoshbakht, Ehsan. “The Essay Film.” A Manifesto by Mark Cousins, https://notesoncinematograph.blogspot.com/2013/08/essayfilm.html.

Rascaroli, Laura. “The Essay Film: Problems, Definitions, Textual Commitments.” Framework: The Journal of Cinema and Media, vol. 49, no. 2, 2008, pp. 24–47, https://doi.org/10.2307/41552525.

The Story of Film: A New Generation. Directed by Marc Cousins, Hopscotch films, 2021.

[galaxies-unknown-a]

For the ask meme

Belonging and Again (@squidsandcords)

[Drabble Me This!]

It had been a long, long life.- One full of very little anymore outside of blaring music, flashing lights, and stuffing down his mourning so that he would never need to feel it again. It was only in very recent years that this pattern had begun to change, to morph into something that, initially, he was sure he'd hate.

He was a demon, a monster, the thing children saw and cried about. He joked about murder and death and torture like it was going out of style. He made sure to freak everyone out, because the few who stayed made for better parties. He had forgotten what it was like, he supposed, to have someone that he could just exist with.

Of course, the other was passed out- curled up in a black blanket with yellow triangles all over, turned towards the buzzing drone of the television while its light tried in vain to awaken them.

No matter what deal he offered, they said no.

It had been eons since he’d had a.... Acquaintance? Friend? That didn’t have strings attached- didn’t want him for something he offered, but just wanted him and his presence. The last time he’d had a life like that....

Well, that universe was gone now.

He was reclined against one of their legs, eye idly watching the cartoon. It was, as they said, ‘another world’. Some show about a raggedy-looking kid trying to live with talking frogs... Bill wanted to comment on how this show, like many, was real- the concept for it merely leaking into another reality, into another’s head as little more than a story... But he knew better.

Still sleeping.. He knew, of course- he’d split a part of his concentration so that they could have a nice, peaceful dream after a long day. Bill had given up questioning himself on this long ago, but for a moment, the oddity of it struck him. Why was he still here, with this one mortal?

Why did he insist on visiting so much, so often?

Why did he not want to leave?

It only occurred to him now, looking over the long extent of his life... That this was the second place he’d ever felt..

Like he belonged.

The two didn’t see eye-to-eye- far from it- but there was a sort of calming chaos to the other that perfectly matched his out-of-bounds tornado of insanity. The jokes the two shared usually made him laugh (or promise payback), and... He liked it.

Liked them.

There was peace here.

Comfort.

He hadn’t experienced as such in so long, always putting on a front or five to make sure none could piece him together. He had five million facets to his façade, but... It all came crumbling down around the other.

Was this what it was like....

To belong?

Could he truly have this again?...

Could he keep it, this time?